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BING 

THE STORY OF A SMALL 
DOG’S LOVE 















The reason for Bing’s excitement was plain to him 

Page 152. 



























BING 

THE STORY OF A SMALL 
DOG’S LOVE 


By CLARENCE HAWKES 

it 

Illustrated by 

GRISWOLD TYNG 



T > 

1 ) > 

>3 ’ 

BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 



"PZiO 



Copyright, 1929, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

Bing 






\ 


Printed in U. S. A. 

SEP 18 1329 

©CIA 12457 




Dedicated to the Officers and Members 
of the Society for the Prevention of 
Cruelty to Animals, as a slight recognition 
of the great work they are doing for the 
disappearance of cruelty to our Dumb 
Animals . Their work uplifts both man 
and beast, for no heart can be really true 
to humanity that is not considerate to¬ 
wards animals. 

What better slogan for kindness to all 
God's Creatures could we have than this 
stanza by Coleridge, from the “ Rime of 
the Ancient Mariner": 

“ He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things, both great and small . 

For the Dear God who loveth us. 

He made and loveth all ” 


« 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

Introduction. “ Faithful and 

True ” 

PAGE 

11 

L 

The Christmas Pup 

• • 

27 

II. 

Homesick .... 

• . • 

45 

III. 

Alone in the World . 

• • 

58 

IV. 

Bing Grows Up 

. 

78 

V. 

The Little Fellow 

• 

• • 

99 

VI. 

His Master’s Eyes . 

«* 

• • 

122 

VII. 

A Timely Trick 

• • 

137 

VIII. 

The Great River Goes Mad 

158 

IX. 

Adrift in the Night 

• • 

181 

X. 

The Long Vigil 

• • 

197 


7 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


The reason for Bing’s excitement was 
plain to him (Page 152) Frontispiece 

PACING PAGE 

The sudden appearance of a large 
foxhound . . . . .74 

“ Hold on, Bing, hold on tight! ” , . 112 

A dog none of them had ever seen 
before ...... 164 

He noticed the small hound perched 
on the ridge-pole .... 192 


9 


INTRODUCTION 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 

“ Faithful and true , will be found upon four 
short legs , 

Ten times , for one upon two” 

In these two quaint lines, Alfred, Lord 
Tennyson, has expressed the sentiments of 
most Englishmen, as well as those of 
nearly all truly great souls. To hate dogs 
is a sign of narrow-mindedness; and his 
fellow men may well watch a man who 
habitually, and without any special rea¬ 
son, cannot endure the finest member of 
the animal creation. 

Maeterlinck says that the dog has more 

nearly broken down the barrier between 

man and the animal kingdom than has any 

other animal. Not only is this true, but 

the dog has also aroused in man some of 

11 


12 BING 

his loftiest sentiments and most unselfish 
love. Man has doubtless had a great n> 
fluence on the dog’s character and disposi¬ 
tion, but it is equally true that the dog 
has both elevated and ennobled man. 

If dogs and men have influenced each 
other greatly in a spiritual way, they have 
materially influenced each other even 
more. Who could have dreamed that 
out of his common ancestor, the grey wolf, 
could have sprung so many and varied 
breeds of dogs; yet each branch of this 
great family of two hundred breeds is a 
true son of a wolf. Breeding, selection, 
training, and environment have made all 
the difference between the great Dane, or 
the powerful wolfhound, and the Pekin¬ 
ese, or toy poodle. Climate has doubt¬ 
less done much to mould the different 
strains, just as it has created different 
races of men; but climate is not all. The 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 13 


dog has been as clay in the potter’s hand, 
and man has moulded him almost at will. 
Not only has he moulded his size, shape, 
and color, but also his disposition and 
habits of mind, for the dog in good hands 
is as plastic as wax. Man has taught dogs 
to be as savage as wolves, or as gentle and 
loving as any person; he has taught the 
dog to range the forests and the plains in 
pursuit of wild game, and has also taught 
him to act as a faithful watchman—a 
policeman neither to be bribed nor brow¬ 
beaten. 

Brave dogs have never hesitated in serv¬ 
ing their masters, even when their own 
lives were in danger, else how could Barry, 
the faithful St. Bernard, have scaled the 
crags and mountain-high snowdrifts for so 
many years in search of lost travellers and 
saved so many lives? Few human life- 
savers in any service have a better record 


14 


BING 


than has this noble dog. Yet, to him, it 
was not heroism, but just a part of the 
day’s work, when men lashed his life-sav¬ 
ing outfit upon this massive dog and sent 
him forth into the howling, swirling storm 
where no man dared to venture. 

The men, women, and children that 
dogs have saved from drowning are 
legion; while faithful fire dogs, and police 
dogs do valiant service for mankind. 

Not only is the dog a good policeman, 
but he is often a fine detective with a 
superhuman sense of evil thoughts in the 
minds and hearts of bad men. There is 
one great business house which has a large 
dog stationed in the outer office. Each 
visitor to the building is scrutinized criti¬ 
cally and, when the stranger who wishes 
to see the general manager finally reaches 
the inner office, a little slip of paper has 
preceded him, telling the manager how 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 15 


the caller has been sized up by the four- 
footed detective in the outer office. If he 
goes up to the stranger and sniffs him in 
a friendly way, the caller always does busi¬ 
ness with the firm, if it is possible, for the 
dog has given him all the recommendation 
the company requires. 

No family circle is ever quite complete, 
especially if the family contains children, 
without a dog. Merwin writes, in “ Dogs 
and Men”: “Blessed are they whose 
furniture is so inexpensive and so shabby 
that children and dogs are not excluded 
from its sacred precincts.” 

It means so much to the different mem¬ 
bers of the family to hear that joyous bark 
when they open the front door, or to feel 
an inquisitive muzzle thrust into the hand. 
To Father and the boys, it is comrade¬ 
ship ; and to Mother and the girls, it is pro¬ 
tection and endearment. How joyously 


16 


BING 


the happy canine bounds to bring Father’s 
slippers, now that Master is at home! How 
the inquisitive nose goes sniffing at the 
different bundles just arrived from the 
grocery or market, to see if there is any 
possibility of a bone for a poor hungry 
dog’s supper! 

If there are children in the family, the 
need of a good dog is great. It is the part 
of wisdom, when the baby comes, to get 
a puppy and let the two grow up together. 
The dog will learn to look after the baby 
even more faithfully than any nurse- 
girl, while from the dog the growing child 
can learn patience, gentleness, and how to 
love, for only a dog really knows how to 
love. It does not matter to him whether 
his master be rich or poor, black or white, 
virtuous or vicious; he loves him just the 
same. He is the only friend who sticks 
by when the family fortunes sink to the 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 17 

zero point, and there is little left in the 
house but love. The faithful dog shares 
the poor man’s poverty just as joyously 
as he does the rich man’s generosity, and 
he is faithful to the last breath in either 
event. 

A good and loving dog is a sure barom¬ 
eter of the family fortune, for his tail 
droops with his master’s sorrow and waves 
high and joyously when the family for¬ 
tunes soar. A man can fool his wife when 
he is worried, but he cannot deceive his 
dog. Somehow that faithful old compan¬ 
ion will smell out the trouble and come 
around and climb up into his master’s lap 
to see if he can heal the wound. He re¬ 
sponds instantly to a better mood. 

The disposition of a dog is often an in¬ 
dex of the disposition of his master, or his 
family; so we should strive to be at our 
very best in order that the family canine 


18 BING 

may reflect our own benevolence and good¬ 
ness. 

Nor has the dog always been without 
honor. Dog-lovers will recall the little 
black-and-tan terrier, Csesar, owned by 
the late King Edward of England, that, 
in the great funeral procession of the dead 
monarch, marched immediately after the 
bier, while thirty thousand British soldiers, 
with arms at rest, followed behind him. 
It was a fine tribute of the British royal 
family to the nobility of the dead mon¬ 
arch’s little canine friend, that had been 
his constant companion in his last hours. 

Nor has the dog been backward in the 
strenuous adventurous life of his god, the 
man creature. The Alaskan dog has 
drawn him along the snowbound trails 
of that bleak land when the thermometer 
was fifty below zero. In the great Alas¬ 
kan sweepstake race which was given up 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 19 

in 1917, because it took so much out of 
both dogs and men, the dog was the chief 
actor. On bloody battle-fields, dogs have 
drawn powder-wagons where it was so 
rough that horses or motor vehicles could 
not travel. When the smoke of battle had 
died away, other brave dogs went over 
the battle-field carrying first aid to the 
wounded, and saving many gallant lives 
for patriotic service. 

On the lonely moors of Scotland and 
England, the shepherd is never alone so 
long as he has his faithful dog with him, 
but he is hopelessly lost without his four- 
footed friend. 

Thus it will be seen in many of the most 
stirring adventures of his life that the 
faithful dog has been by man’s side, shar¬ 
ing his hardships and keeping him com¬ 
pany. 

Since the dog is such a true and worthy 


20 


BING 


friend to man, I bespeak from all my read¬ 
ers such treatment of him as his nobility 
deserves. I beseech the vivisectionist to 
stay the knife that he holds above his help¬ 
less friend, for the dog, alive, can do much 
more for humanity than he can dead. 
Vivisection is a relic of barbarism and no 
part of true science. It is destined to 
disappear as a hideous nightmare, some¬ 
thing that is best forgotten. 

Officers who restrain dogs and enforce 
laws concerning them should temper jus¬ 
tice with mercy, for they little dream 
what good friends to man they lose when 
they ruthlessly slaughter dogs. 

Boys who stone dogs should stop and 
think before they throw the missile, for 
some day this very dog may pull them 
from the water and save their lives. 

Automobilists who mercilessly run dogs 
down on the public highways should re- 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 21 


member that, although they can take life, 
they cannot give it. They have no right 
to blot carelessly out a life which may be 
very dear to some child, or to some older 
dog-lover. 

Owners of dogs,—yours is a great re¬ 
sponsibility! Always see that your dog’s 
collar is sufficiently loose, and if he is 
chained, be sure that he has a generous 
leash. Look to his food and his water as 
you would wish to be treated yourself. 
He will pay you back for all your care in 
the golden coin of love; such love as money 
cannot buy; a love which is always faith¬ 
ful and which never wavers. 

If fortune flouts you, other friends may 
slight you, but never your dog. You may 
fall in grace in the eyes of the world, but 
you can never fall in his esteem. To him 
you will always be master, his first and last 
love, and his god, often a very sorry god, 


22 BING 

disgracing the love and trust that he gives 
you, yet still his god. 

He will lick the empty hand with just as 
much affection as he does the hand of 
opulence, and all he asks in return is to be 
near you, to share your joys and your sor¬ 
rows, to comfort your lonely moments with 
his silent adoration, and to kiss away your 
tears with his soft tongue, if you are over¬ 
whelmed with grief. If you speak to him 
kindly now and then; if you give back just 
a fraction of the lavish love he is always 
outpouring; if you call him chum or pal 
occasionally and tell him confidentially all 
those things that perplex you; he will 
understand much better than you imagine, 
and his dumb affection will do much to 
assuage the sharpest grief. If you treat 
him as such a friend deserves to be treated, 
it is all he asks. 

He will lie for hours looking up at you 


“ FAITHFUL AND TRUE ” 23 


with those adoring eyes, perfectly happy. 
If you treat him right, you will find his 
love as constant as the magnetic needle is 
to the pole. Others may fluctuate, but 
never he. In riches and poverty, joy and 
sorrow, honor and disgrace, heat and cold, 
he is always the same adoring, worshipful 
friend, faithful unto death, giving his all, 
and giving it gladly. 

Fidelity, loyalty, valor, trustfulness, 
honesty, devotion, selflessness, thy name is 
Dog, the best friend that God ever vouch¬ 
safed to man. 





BING 

THE STORY OF A SMALL 
DOG’S LOVE 







CHAPTER I 

THE CHRISTMAS PUP 

Mrs. Browning stood on the corner of 
Broad Street, at the point where Bay Path 
crosses it on its way from Boston to Al¬ 
bany. She was waiting for a trolley car to 
Meadowdale. In summer, this street on 
which she stood was a nature-lover’s para¬ 
dise, with its four rows of gigantic elms 
stretching their long arms far out over the 

green carpet. At close of day, when the 

27 


28 BING 

dark shadows stole from behind the trunks 
of the mighty trees and stray sunbeams 
filtered down through the leaves and made 
patches of gold on the green carpet, it was 
a child’s paradise. 

But, now, as Mrs. Browning saw it on 
Christmas Eve, its beauty was of another 
order, and it fairly took away her breath 
as she gazed in awe upon it. There had 
been a heavy snowfall two days before, 
and this had been succeeded by rain which 
had frozen as it fell, so that now the village 
green and adjacent fields were covered 
with a coating of crystals that glistened 
and glimmered in the moonlight like a 
woodland lake with its first coating of ice. 

Every twig of the great elms was be- 
jeweled with ice, and all the weeds and 
bushes were hung with diamonds. It 
looked more like a fairy world than the 
staid old town. The icicles on the trees 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 29 

caught the moonbeams and refracted them 
in all the colors of the prism, while count¬ 
less stars in the heavens added to the bril¬ 
liancy of the scene. 

It was an animated picture, with chil¬ 
dren shouting and laughing and, occasion¬ 
ally, a sleigh-ride party crossing the street. 
The loads of merry youngsters sang and 
shouted and rang discordant cow-bells as 
they passed. But when there came an 
occasional lull in the merrymaking, it 
seemed to Mrs. Browning that the stillness 
which followed had a peculiar quality, as 
though the hush of that far-off Christmas, 
nineteen hundred years before, had come 
down through the centuries and settled like 
a benediction on the old town. 

At this point in Mrs. Browning’s reflec¬ 
tions, the trolley car stopped at her corner 
and she hurried inside to quite another 
world. Outside, the air had been clear, 


30 


BING 


crisp, and bracing; but inside the car, the 
artificial warmth was heavy with many 
perfumes strangely mingled together. 
Every one in the car was excited and full 
of good spirits. Many were talking and 
laughing and already extending Christmas 
greetings, although it was only Christmas 
Eve. There was a sound of animated con¬ 
versation, a general Christmas chatter, 
each advising the other as to what they 
should get for Johnnie or Susie, or debat¬ 
ing concerning their gifts for their hus¬ 
bands this year. It was so hard to get 
just the right thing for one’s husband. 
Presently, Mrs. Browning was seated and 
chatting with a neighbor, for she, too, was 
in quest of a Christmas present. 

Mrs. Browning did not ride into town, 
but stopped by a cross street about a mile 
from the center. A brisk walk for five 
minutes down this street brought her to 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 31 

a low old-fashioned house, where she 
mounted the piazza steps and rang the bell. 
At the sound of the tinkling bell, there was 
a chorus of barks from the dog company 
inside. There was the high staccato of 
the Pomeranian, the deep bay of the police 
dog, and several other tones ranging in be¬ 
tween these two in pitch. 

Presently, a tall lank man with a stoop 
in his shoulders opened the door. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Manson,” said 
Mrs. Browning. 

He did not at first recognize his visitor. 

“ Oh, is that you, Mrs. Browning? ” he 
exclaimed. “ Come right in,” and he 
threw wide the door. 

As Mrs. Browning entered, a beautiful 
English setter crowded up to her and put 
her muzzle into the woman’s hand, and re¬ 
ceived a pat on her noble head. The police 
dog looked curiously in from a side door, 


32 


BING 


and the two Pomeranians viewed the new¬ 
comer from a distance. 

“ Here, you dogs, get back there! This 
is your friend, Mrs. Browning. Don’t 
you know her? Come right in. Mrs. 
Manson has stepped out for a minute,” 
and he led the way to the sitting-room. 

“ Here, you, Queenie,” said the man 
peremptorily to a sleek greyhound that 
was in the large easy chair, “ get up and 
give Mrs. Browning the chair.” 

The greyhound raised herself, yawned, 
and jumped lightly to the floor. 

“ Thank you, Queenie,” said Mrs. 
Browning, as she seated herself. 

“ How is Mr. Browning? ” inquired Mr. 
Manson. 44 1 understand he has been in 
the hospital.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Browning. “ He 
just arrived home this afternoon. He is 
tired out. We can’t blame him. This 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 33 

pounding away at a typewriter for 
twenty-five years with an endless round of 
dictionaries, manuscripts, and then more 
manuscripts is enough to tire out any one. 
I don’t see how he stands it.” 

“ That’s so,” said Mr. Manson. “ It’s 
all I can do to just keep track of the titles 
of his books, to say nothing of reading 
them.” 

“ And that brings me to my errand,” ex¬ 
plained Mrs. Browning. “ I must not be 
away too long. He is all alone. I have 
come over to buy the fox terrier you adver¬ 
tised in the paper this morning. I want it 
for a Christmas present for Mr. Brown¬ 
ing. He is tired and discouraged, and I 
know a little dog will do him good. He 
wants something snuggly to cuddle. I 
think the paper said the price was twenty- 
five dollars,” and Mi's. Browning reached 
for her pocket-book. 


34 BING 

At these words, Mr. Manson looked 
troubled and ran his fingers through his 
hair. 

“ I’m mighty sorry, Mrs. Browning, but 
I sold that little fox terrier an hour ago. 
I don’t know of any one in the whole 
world I would rather have sold him to than 
to you and Mr. Browning, but he is gone. 
I’m very sorry.” 

Mrs. Browning’s astonishment and dis¬ 
appointment were so great that she 
dropped her pocket-book, and change 
rolled in every direction. When the 
money had been recovered and the pocket- 
book had been put back in the bag, Mr. 
Manson said: “ I think I can fix you up 
all right. Fox terriers are good, but I 
have got some other dogs that will do just 
as well.” 

“ Oh, no, you haven’t,” put in Mrs. 
Browning. “ A fox terrier was just what 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 35 

I wanted. I have made up my mind, 
and another dog won’t do.” 

But Mr. Manson was not discouraged. 
He knew dogs, and he also thought he 
knew men and women, so he kept right on 
just as though he had not heard Mrs. 
Browning. “You come out to the kennels 
and see what I have. I’ve got the most 
wonderful lot of beagle pups you ever saw 
in your whole life, as many as twenty of 
them, and every one a beauty. I know 
you will like them, once you see them.” 

“ I do not think I should want to buy 
one,” said Mrs. Browning. “ I had made 
up my mind to buy a fox terrier.” 

“ Well, it won’t cost anything to look 
at them,” returned Mr. Manson. “ Come 
out and see them. They are such beauties, 
and so full of life.” 

As Mr. Manson had said, the beagle 
pups were beauties. There were nearly 


36 


BING 


twenty of them jumping about in their 
own particular pen. They moved so 
rapidly that it was almost impossible to 
pick out one and then be sure you still had 
your eyes on the same dog a minute after. 
Mrs. Browning gazed at them in perfect 
silence for at least a minute, and Mr. Man- 
son, like the wise man that he was, said 
nothing. 

“.Well,” he inquired at last, “how do 
they look to you? What do you think of 
them? ” 

“ They are great,” said Mrs. Browning 
enthusiastically. “ They are beautiful lit¬ 
tle dogs. I don’t know- Perhaps one 

of them would do for Mr. Browning, even 

* 

though I had made up my mind to get a 
fox terrier.” 

“ I am sure it would,” returned her host. 
“ I tell you what I will do. You pick out 
one, and we will make Mr. Browning a 



THE CHRISTMAS PUP 37 


Christmas present of it together. I will 
give half and you half.” 

“ No, that will never do,” returned Mrs. 
Browning. “ I want to give the whole 
myself.” 

“ All right,” said Mr. Manson good- 
naturedly. “ I will let you have the pup 
at half-price.” 

The next question was to select a pup 
from the wriggling mass. Mrs. Browning 
selected at least a half-dozen and then 
changed her mind when she thought she 
had discovered one which was better than 
her last choice. Finally, in utter perplex¬ 
ity, she asked Mr. Manson to pick out one, 
and there was no question in his mind as to 
which was the best one. Almost imme¬ 
diately he caught his favorite and held him 
up for Mrs. Browning’s inspection. The 
little dog was symmetrically formed and 
beautifully marked. 


38 


BING 


“ I will take it,” said Mrs. Browning. 
So the purchase was made then and there, 
and they returned to the house and found 
an empty basket in which to carry the pup 
home. 

“ Now, if he isn’t satisfactory in every 
way and Mr. Browning doesn’t like him, 
you bring him right back and I will give 
you another,” said Mr. Manson, as Mrs. 
Browning departed with her purchase. 

Arrived at the street corner, she found 
that there were still several minutes before 
the car was due, so she went into a little 
store to wait. She placed the basket on 
the counter and extended Christmas greet¬ 
ings to the grocery man. They were still 
talking when a pleasant woman of about 
fifty bustled in. 

“ Oh, hello, Mrs. Browning, is that you? 
Aren’t you lost? I wish you a Merry 
Christmas.” 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 39 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Browning, “ I have 
just been up to your place. I wanted to 
see you, but I couldn’t wait. I have got 
to get home as soon as possible, as I left 
Mr. Browning alone.” 

“ What have you got in the basket? ” 
inquired Mrs. Manson suspiciously. “ It 
isn’t one of the babies, is it? ” 

At the sound of her voice, there was a 
great commotion inside the basket and a 
pathetic whimpering. 

“ There, now, I knew you had one of the 
babies,” exclaimed Mrs. Manson. “ I 
wonder which one it is. It sounds like 
Bing. It couldn’t be Bing, though; Mr. 
Manson wouldn’t sell him. Why, he is 
the pick of the kennels! ” 

At this instant, the pup pushed up the 
lid from the basket and quickly stuck out 
his head. 

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Manson. 


40 


BING 


“ It is Bing! I thought it sounded like 
him. Mr. Manson wouldn’t have sold him 
to anybody except you. He was intend¬ 
ing to keep him.” 

“ How did you happen to name him 
Bing? ” inquired Mrs. Browning. “ I am 
glad if he is the pick of the kennels.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” returned her 
friend. “ They just seem to name them¬ 
selves. One day he was sniffing around 
my feet and I said, ‘ I know what your 
name is, little dog, it is Bingo.’ It is after 
the old song, Bingo, don’t you remem¬ 
ber? ” and Mrs. Manson hummed the old 
ditty: 

“ Johnny had a little dog and Bingo was his 
name, sir, 

BT-N-G-0 go, B-I-N-G-0 go, Bingo was his 
name, sir.” 

Half an hour later, Mrs. Browning hur¬ 
ried into her own house and deposited the 
basket on the sofa. 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 41 


4 4 1 have a Christmas present for you, 
Lawrence,” she said, snapping on the 
light; 44 come over here to the sofa. I 
want you to see it.” 

44 A Christmas present for me? Why, 
it won’t be Christmas until to-morrow.” 

44 Yes, I know,” returned Mrs. Brown¬ 
ing, 44 but I wanted you to have it right 
off.” 

The man got up slowly and went over to 
the lounge. In the meantime Mrs. Brown¬ 
ing had opened the basket and deposited 
the little dog beside it. 

44 What is it, another puppy? ” inquired 
the man. 44 You know I always said, after 
Scottie died, I never could bear to have 
another dog.” 

44 1 know you said that,” returned Mrs. 
Browning. 44 That is what you always 
say when we lose an old dog, and somehow 
we always get another.” 


42 


BING 


Mr. Browning lifted the pup in his arms 
and returned to his easy-chair, and the 
little dog snuggled down in his lap while 
his new master caressed his long silky ears 
and stroked his head. 

“ What breed is it? ” he inquired finally. 
“ Not that it matters, if it is just dog.” 

“ I intended to get you a fox terrier,” 
replied Mrs. Browning, “ but the one I 
went for was sold. This is a beagle 
hound.” 

“ Humph,” said Mr. Browning, “ a 
beagle hound. Why, I used to have one 
when I was a small boy, and I thought 
the world of it. Perhaps this one will be 
just as good.” 

At this point in the conversation, Mrs. 
Browning went into the kitchen to do the 
dishes which she had left in her haste to 
go to the city, and Mr. Browning was left 
with the new puppy. As the man felt the 


THE CHRISTMAS PUP 43 


warm little body of the dog nestling 
against him and the little head lying con¬ 
fidingly in the palm of his hand, this mite 
of a dog did something for him that 
weeks of treatment in the hospital and 
much medicine had failed to accomplish, 
for it unlocked a well-spring of love in his 
being. A great tension in his mind was 
relieved, nerves relaxed, and happy tears 
filled his eyes. Yes, he was going to love 
this little dog. He had come at just the 
right time and he was as welcome as sun¬ 
light in a darkened room. Yes, he would 
be one of the family and take the place of 
their old collie. 

Fifteen minutes later, when Mrs. 
Browning returned to the room, she found 
the man asleep in the easy-chair, and the 
little dog resting on his shoulder and 
nestling against the man’s face in an atti¬ 
tude of perfect contentment. The dog, 


44 


BING 


too, was asleep, so Mrs. Browning tip¬ 
toed out of the room lest she should dis¬ 
turb the sleepers. A great joy filled her 
heart. Her Christmas gift was the right 
sort because it had brought love, which 
is the light of the world, into a darkened 
life. Yes, the little dog would be one of 
the family. 



CHAPTER II 

HOMESICK 

That evening, when Mrs. Browning 
went to look at the furnace and put on a 
couple of shovels of coal for the night, 
Bing went down cellar with her. He 
thought the cellar a very strange and in¬ 
teresting place. He had never been in 
one before, as he had spent the whole of his 
short life above ground. He explored all 

the dark interesting corners, and finally 

45 


46 


BING 


climbed up on the wood-pile and peeked 
out the cellar window. Then he hur¬ 
ried down and tried to dig a hole in the 
cellar bottom, but the dirt was too hard 
and he soon gave it up. Finally, he dis¬ 
covered the potato barrel in the very dark¬ 
est corner of the cellar, and behind it was 
an exciting scent that interested him. It 
was more than exciting; it thrilled him and 
made his every nerve to tingle and the hair 
along his neck and back to stand erect. 
So he squeezed in behind the barrel, utter¬ 
ing sharp, excited barks. But these barks 
soon changed to yelps of pain, and he 
scrambled out from behind the barrel 
much faster than he had gone in and ran 
whimpering to Mrs. Browning. That 
kind lady at once took him up in her arms. 
She found a few drops of blood on his 
upper lip. 

“You poor little dog,” she said sympa- 


HOMESICK 


47 


thetically, “ that horrid, long-tailed, gray- 
whiskered, old rat has bitten you in the 
face. I must doctor the wound at once,” 
and she hurried up-stairs with Bing. 

The sylpho-nathol bottle was brought 
into play and a few drops were put on 
Bing’s wound. This made the cut smart, 
and he thought that the treatment was 
worse than the original accident. After 
that, whenever he saw Mrs. Browning 
looking for the sylpho-nathol bottle, he 
would stick his tail between his legs and 
crawl under the stove and try to hide. 

The last thing before the Brownings re¬ 
tired for the night, Mrs. Browning ar¬ 
ranged a warm blanket in the basket in 
which she had brought the puppy home, 
and placed it close to the furnace in the 
cellar. Then she tucked Bing up for the 
night, and he was so tired from the excit¬ 
ing five hours that had elapsed since he 


48 BING 

had left his home in the kennels that he at 
once went to sleep. 

“ He went right off to sleep, just like a 
baby,” reported Mrs. Browning to her 
husband as they prepared to retire. “ He 
isn’t going to give us a particle of trouble. 
I am sure he will be a great comfort to 
you.” 

“ I hope so,” replied the man. 

Mr. Browning did not go to sleep im¬ 
mediately, for sleeplessness was one of his 
bugaboos, but Mrs. Browning was soon 
snoring peacefully. Presently a new 
sound was heard in the Browning estab¬ 
lishment, and the listening man at once 
knew that it came from the cellar. The 
sound began with a hoarse bark, which 
gradually ascended in a pathetic crescendo 
until it ended in a wail of sound; then it 
would begin at the top of the scale and 
come sliding down, only to end in a hoarse 


HOMESICK 49 

little bark. Then there was absolute 
silence for perhaps thirty seconds, after 
that a half-dozen excited yelps, then an¬ 
other silence, just long enough to see if 
the outcry produced any results; then 
came a dozen angry, explosive little 
barks. 

As the sounds from the cellar persisted 
and Mrs. Browning continued to snore 
peacefully, Mr. Browning pulled the 
coverlet over his head and tried to shut out 
the duet, but all to no purpose. Then he 
thrust his head under the pillow to see if 
that would help, but he could still hear the 
pitiful wailing. 

Presently Mrs. Browning awoke with a 
start and sat up in bed. 44 Did I hear 
something? ” she inquired. “ What is that 
wailing down-stairs? ” 

“ Oh, that’s our new dog,” replied Mr. 
Browning. 44 He has been at it fifteen 


50 BING 

minutes. I guess we are in for it this 
time.” 

“ The poor little chap,” returned his 
wife sympathetically. “ I should have 
known better than to put him down cellar. 
He is afraid of that miserable old rat. I 
will go right down and bring him up to the 
kitchen.” 

So she put on her bathrobe and, thrust¬ 
ing her feet into her slippers, hurried down 
cellar. When she returned, she reported 
that she had moved the basket beside the 
kitchen stove and the little dog was again 
sleeping. Their troubles seemed over for 
that night, but Mr. Browning was skep¬ 
tical, although he said never a word. 

A half-hour later the pathetic concert 
below was resumed, but it was much louder 
than before, as the performer was now in 
the kitchen instead of the cellar. He 
went all through his entire program just 


HOMESICK 


51 


as he had in the first instance, only this 
time it was much more vigorous, and it 
seemed to Mr. Browning more agonizing. 

He pulled the blanket over his head and 
finally stuffed the ends of his handkerchief 
in his ears, but still the pathetic whimper¬ 
ing of the homesick puppy floated up to 
him. 

“ Oh! Is that poor little dog crying 
again? ” exclaimed Mrs. Browning, rais¬ 
ing herself on her elbow once more. 

“ Oh, yes,” replied her husband, “ he has 
been at it for the last half-hour. I just 
don’t see how we are going to get any sleep 
to-night.” 

Mrs. Browning made another trip to the 
kitchen and fed and watered and cuddled 
the lonesome little dog, and once again she 
reported that he was fast asleep. 

“ He is worse than twins,” said Mr. 
Browning, “ or, at least, he is worse than a 


52 


BING 


baby. I hope he has quieted down now 
for good.” 

But he had not, for, off and on for the 
better part of the night, the noise from 
the kitchen continued, and the new mem¬ 
ber of the family was quiet only when 
Mrs. Browning was tending to him. 

Mr. Browning loved dogs, there was no 
question about that, but he did not like to 

hear them bark and whimper when he 

• 

wanted to sleep. He stood it for the bet¬ 
ter part of the night and, towards morn¬ 
ing, lost that patience that we should al¬ 
ways have with very small children and 
small dogs. Finally, he crept quietly out 
of bed and made a trip to the kitchen him¬ 
self. Bing greeted him joyously at the 
kitchen door, but his hilarity was not re¬ 
ciprocated, for Mr. Browning took him, 
none too carefully, by the scruff of the 
neck and cuffed his ears soundly and then 


HOMESICK 


58 


threw him back into his basket, not forget¬ 
ting to slam the kitchen door when he went 
back to bed. 

This chastisement had the desired effect, 
for not another bark or whimper was heard 
that night from the kitchen, but Mr. 
Browning paid for it dearly, for it was at 
least two weeks before he could fully re¬ 
gain the little dog’s confidence and get him 
once more to snuggle down in his lap as 
he had done that first night. 

He had violated a fundamental rule in 
training a puppy, that is, not to punish a 
very small dog too severely before he has 
learned to love you. After he has learned 
to love his master, he can forgive him any¬ 
thing, but it bewilders him to punish him 
before that time has come. 

Mr. Browning was very much surprised 
the following day to discover that Bing 
belonged entirely to Mrs. Browning, al- 


54 


BING 


though he was supposed to be his own 
Christmas present. But, do what he 
would, the master could not get the little 
dog to so much as look at him all that day, 
not even when he tried to coax him with a 
gingersnap. When Mr. Browning thrust 
the gingersnap into the side of Bing’s 
mouth, he held it for a minute wistfully 
and then, looking up at the man with a re¬ 
proachful expression on his little dog face, 
dropped the daint}^ that he so much cov¬ 
eted and climbed into Mrs. Browning’s lap. 

“ Well, what do you know about that? ” 
exclaimed Mr. Browning. “ Who would 
have thought that he was so sensitive? I 
shouldn’t have done it, only you know how 
my sleep has been broken for so many 
weeks, and last night was just the last 
straw.” 

There was one member of the Browning 
family that Bing at once made friends 


HOMESICK 


55 

with, and that was the Professor, a large 
buff-colored Angora cat. The Professor 
was so full of love and friendship for 
everybody that he at once took the little 
dog under his special care and, in a very 
few hours, the two were the best of friends. 
They would sleep together in the same 
chair, and the Professor tried to wash 
Bing’s face that first evening, just as 
though he had been another cat. 

Although Bing followed Mrs. Brown¬ 
ing about like her shadow, and although he 
enjoyed the Professor greatly, yet he was 
not happy. He had come from a great 
kennel where there were twenty other 
beagle pups. They had enjoyed such 
romps and such wonderful sham fights, 
and now there was nobody to roll and 
tumble with or play with, the way he had 
romped with his brothers and sisters. 

It was a beautiful home that he had 


56 


BING 


come to, much more comfortable than the 
cheerless kennels had been. There he had 
slept with a half-dozen other puppies in 
the cold shelter; here he was always warm 
and comfortable, but Bing missed his dog 
family more than any one in the Browning 
household even dreamed. 

One morning, when he had been at Sun¬ 
shine Cottage about two weeks, this long¬ 
ing for his friends in the big kennels and 
for Mr. Manson became too great for Bing 
to bear, and he did a thing which nearly 
cost him his life. 

Mrs. Browning was sweeping and, in 
the course of her house-cleaning, opened 
wide the kitchen door to air the room. 
She had supposed that Bing was sleeping 
on the window ledge of the living-room, 
but instead he was under the kitchen stove. 
So, when her back was turned, he slipped 
out through the open door and hurried 


HOMESICK 57 

down the street, going he knew not 
whither, but determined to seek and find 
his old home and all his brothers and sis¬ 
ters that had romped with him only a 
couple of weeks before. 



CHAPTER III 

ALONE IN THE WORLD 

Bing trotted rapidly down the street for 
perhaps a hundred yards, occasionally 
looking back over his shoulder to see if he 
were being followed. But his absence 
from the Browning home had not yet been 
discovered, so, of course, no one followed 
him. 

Presently he came to a cross street and 

58 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 59 


there were three possibilities before him. 
Then the thought occurred to him that he 
did not know the way back to the kennels 
and kind Mr. Manson. So he stopped 
and sat down upon his tail to think, or 
rather to wonder, for his thinking was not 
very definite. 

Should he continue along the way he 
was going, or turn to the left or right? 
Finally he decided to go ahead, but after 
a little he concluded this was not the way, 
so he came back to the intersection of the 
streets and went to the right. This street 
also did not satisfy him, so he again re¬ 
traced his steps and took the left. By this 
time he could not even have found his way 
back to the Brownings. 

A few rods down the street to the left, 
he discovered a large yellow cat sunning 
himself on the piazza. He looked for all 
the world like the Professor, so Bing de- 


60 BING 

cided to interview him. He would surely 
know the way home to the kennels. 

As the strange puppy started to mount 
the piazza steps, the big yellow cat arched 
his back and began spitting. The sounds 
did not seem to be exactly friendly, but 
Bing’s need was very great, so he con¬ 
tinued to climb. 

Now Bing was wagging his tail vehe¬ 
mently and grinning his most persuasive 
dog grin, but the big cat either did not 
notice these friendly overtures or else he 
was a cat grouch and did not wish to be 
friendly, for, when Bing’s paw touched 
the top step, something happened which 
he had not even dreamed of, for, with a 
nasty yowl and spit, the great cat sprang 
across the piazza and landed fairly upon 
Bing’s back. He came with such fury 
that he bowled the unsuspecting puppy 
over and sent him sprawling to the bottom 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 61 


of the steps. This probably saved him a 
bad scratching, for before the belligerent 
cat could gather himself together for an¬ 
other spring, the terrified pup had fled 
down the pathway yelping in fright. He 
had learned his first lesson in the great 
wide world, namely, that things and people 
are not always just what they seem to be, 
and that it is well to be slow in making 
friendships,—a philosophy that applies 
equally well to men and dogs. 

After that, Bing did not seek to ask the 
way to the homes of either cats, dogs, or 
men, but wandered miserably about look¬ 
ing this way and that, hoping that some¬ 
thing would turn up. 

It was while wandering about in this 
aimless way, and getting farther and far¬ 
ther from his haven at the Brownings’, 
that some boys spied the lost pup. 
Arthur Guiterman has written: 


62 


BING 


“ Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin, 

Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in! ” 

Now the boys should have noticed that 
this was a lost pup and have taken him to 
their hearts, and tried to help him, but this 
did not even occur to them. They just 
saw in the forlorn little dog an object for 
fun, or rather something that they, in their 
thoughtlessness, called fun, but it should 
never be fun to a right-minded boy to tor¬ 
ment any of the dumb creatures. 

So one boy scooped up a handful of 
snow and cried to his fellows: “ I bet I’ll 
be the first one to hit him.” 

Bing divined at once that he was the 
object of their mirth, yet he never dreamed 
that their intent was anything but kindly. 
Perhaps these boys were going to help him 
find the way to the kennel. So he ad¬ 
vanced, wagging his tail. 

Zip, went a snowball so close to him that 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 63 


it kicked up a cloud of snow crystals. The 
boy who had thrown the snow missile 
laughed with delight. 

Zip, zip, went two other snowballs, and 
then another from the first boy hit poor 
frightened little Bing a glancing blow. 
He did not wait to see more. The intent 
of these boys was certainly unfriendly, so 
he ran with all his might away from the 
flying missiles. 

He did not stop running until he had 
left the thoughtless boys far behind, but, 
even so, they chased him for a score of 
rods, throwing snowballs as they ran. 

Bing had learned another lesson, which 
was not to trust strangers implicitly until 
you have found them out. All was not 
gold that glittered in this strange and fear¬ 
ful world into which he had fled so con¬ 
fidently. Perhaps the great wide world 
was not a good place at all. He had 


64 


BING 


better try to find his way back to Sun¬ 
shine Cottage and the Brownings; they 
had really been very good to him. This 
was his conclusion as he now saw them 
through the vista of his sorry adventures 
of the past hour. It was a case of distance 
lending enchantment. But he had become 
so bewildered in fleeing from the hateful 
boys that he had lost all sense of direction 
and didn’t even know the way back to 

i 

Sunshine Cottage, although it was barely 
a quarter of a mile away and really almost 
within sight, if he had looked in the right 
direction. So Bing decided to make the 
acquaintance of a big bulldog that was 
gnawing a bone on a piazza near by. 
Perhaps he would help him. 

His experience with dogs had always 
been pleasant. All the dogs at the ken-^ 
nels had been friendly; surely this one 
would be, also. Bing advanced wagging 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 65 


his tail, but, to his great astonishment, the 
bulldog arose and stood over his bone and 
growled most viciously when the lost pup 
came close to him. Bing was so fright¬ 
ened that he fled, not even taking time to 
explain in dog language that he did not 
want the bone, but was just inquiring his 
way home to his folks. He had learned 
another lesson,—the lesson of proprietor¬ 
ship in one’s home, which is very strong in 
dogs and one of their most zealously 
guarded rights. No dog should ever tres¬ 
pass upon another dog’s piazza, or even 
look at his bone, unless he is invited. Yes, 
Bing would remember that. Why, the 
growl of that bulldog even made him cold, 
and he shivered and whimpered miserably! 

Several other houses he reconnoitered 
cautiously, but they were all either 
guarded by dogs, or else children saw him 
and drove him away. Finally, he became 



BING 


66 

convinced that all the world hated him, or 
at least all the world but the Brownings, 
and that he was an outcast. What would 
he not give to see those good people again! 

At the thought of the pleasant quarters 
at Sunshine Cottage, a great wave of lone¬ 
liness and despair seized Bing, and he sat 
down upon his tail and lifted up his nose 
and howled dolefully. 

“ Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin, 

Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in! ” 

Then Bing remembered that he was very 
hungry. The excitement of the past hour 
and its loneliness had made his appetite 
like that of a wolf, so he set about to find 
himself some food. 

He inspected several outbuildings and 
farmyards and, after a long search, dis¬ 
covered a small animal which had been 
freshly skinned and thrown upon a com¬ 
post heap. He fell upon it savagely. At 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 67 

first he thought it rather good meat, he was 
so hungry. But finally he bit into a por¬ 
tion of the carcass that fairly nauseated 
him, and Bing left the odorous meat in 
great haste. The truth was, Bing had 
been eating a freshly skinned skunk and 
had bitten into the carcass near to the 
scent-bag. No wonder it was strong meat. 
How his fortunes had fallen! 

At Sunshine Cottage at this very 
minute, on a plate behind the kitchen 
range, were plenty of dog biscuits war¬ 
ranted to contain just the right ingredients 
for a growing pup, both bone and muscle. 
Also, there were dog cubes which would 
keep any dog in the pink of condition and 
a generous saucer of milk, not to mention 
the company of the Professor. The 
thoughts of that old cat and his lost plate 
of dog goodies made Bing again sit upon 
his tail and wail dismally. 


68 BING 

And what a commotion he had created 
at Sunshine Cottage, for Mr. Browning 
sat at his desk telephoning frantically in 
every direction for “ a little dog with his 
tail tucked in.” Had any one seen a little 
lost beagle hound? He was black and 
white, with tan ears and tan markings 
around the eyes. His name was Bing, 
and if any one saw him, would he return 
him to Sunshine Cottage where a reward 
was waiting? The Boy Scouts and Girl 
Scouts were finally pressed into service in 
the search for the little lost pup. Mean¬ 
while, Mrs. Browning ran hither and 
thither to all the neighbors, asking the 
same question: “ Has any one seen a little 
lost pup? ” 

When Mr. Browning finally telephoned 
to Mr. Manson at the kennels, that kind 
dog-man tried to reassure Bing’s new 


owner. 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 69 


“ I guess he will be all right,” he said. 
“ You see, Mr. Browning, a dog hasn’t 
lost all of his wild-animal instincts. They 
can take care of themselves a great deal 
better than we humans can under hard 
conditions. I guess he will dig in some¬ 
where. I shouldn’t worry, if I were you.” 

But hours passed with no word from 
Bing. Some people thought they had 
seen him, or a puppy just like him, but 
they were not sure. Several thought their 
children had seen him. They would keep 
a sharp lookout and, if anything was seen 
of him, they would report. 

Thus hour after hour went by and the 
anxiety at Sunshine Cottage grew steadily, 
and, in the meantime, the fear that had 
held Mr. Manson when he had heard the 
news of the lost dog came to pass, for a 
blinding, swirling snowstorm set in, with 
every prospect of a deep snowfall. 


70 


BING 


The snow came down in pelting, swirl¬ 
ing gusts, and the cold grew steadily. A 
blizzard was upon them, such as had not 
been seen in many a winter, and a little 
lost pup, only three months old, was out 
in the storm, pitting his small strength 
and his slight wits against the mighty 
force of the snow and the cold. 

It was terrible. Mr. Browning paced up 
and down the rooms or listened at the win¬ 
dow to the howling of the wind. 

“ I am afraid we shall never see him 
again,” he said. “ He never can stand 
this storm. If he is out in this terrible 
blizzard, he will surely perish.” 

“ I shouldn’t worry,” returned his wife. 
“ Some one will take him in. As Mr. 
Manson says, he will dig in somewhere.” 

But he did not. That is, he did not dig 
into any human shelter. For, after trying 
house after house and being driven away 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 71 


by either dogs or children or strange 
noises, little Bing took to the woods. He 
sought shelter in a desolate swamp about 
a quarter of a mile from the nearest farm¬ 
house and a mile from the village. Here 
he dug a hole under the top of a fallen 
hemlock. He dug deep, as far down as he 
could, and the white snow soon covered 
him. There, all through the night, at the 
heart of the desolate swamp, poor little 
Bing shivered and cowered, trying to sleep 
and to keep from freezing, while his 
master and mistress worried themselves 
nearly sick and sent up silent prayers to 
Heaven for a little lost pup. 

For the next ten days, Old Winter put 
on such a program of blinding snow¬ 
storms, howling wind, and biting cold as 
even the oldest resident could not recall. 
People who did not have very urgent busi¬ 
ness out of doors stayed close to the fire, 


72 


BING 


and those who did venture outside put on 
their warmest furs. 

And all this time Mr. Browning kept up 
his search for the missing pup. He tele¬ 
phoned to every friend in the village and 
surrounding hamlets. He advertised in 
the local paper, while the Boy Scouts, 
the Girl Scouts, and the local police 
scoured the country for miles around, but 
not a sign of Bing could they find. 

Meanwhile, the object of all this anxiety 
was having an even harder time. For the 
better part of each day and all through the 
night, he skulked in the swamp. Each 
day at dusk he came forth and went to the 
compost heap for his ration of frozen 
skunk. It was lucky for him that the boy 
whose dump he was pillaging was a good 
trapper. For, as soon as the first skunk 
had been eaten, another appeared, and that 
was soon followed by a dead muskrat. 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 73 


This meat was not so strong, but 44 wow,” 
wasn’t it tough! As Bing munched away 
upon it, he must have longed with a pitiful 
longing for his plate of dog biscuit and 
cubes, or the saucer of warm milk. 

He had one desperate adventure in the 
dark swamp which nearly ended fatally. 
It was merely by a stroke of good luck 
that he escaped. It happened that a big 
red fox also made his home in the swamp, 
and one day when he was prowling about, 
he discovered the fresh tracks of the small 
dog. Somehow it angered the old fox to 
know that a puppy was snooping about in 
his swamp, so he followed the tracks, de¬ 
termined to make an end of the small dog, 
should he discover him alone. 

Finally, he spied him wandering dis¬ 
consolately about and gave chase. Now 
Bing had a very keen nose, and this 
warned him of his danger before it was too 


74 


BING 


late. He did not know just what the 
danger was, but, without waiting to see, he 
fled in and out among the clumps of laurel, 
the old fox gaining on him at every jump. 
Out and in they raced, and Bing’s pursuer 
had almost reached him when this head¬ 
long flight was checked by the sudden ap¬ 
pearance of a large foxhound that was also 
prowling about in the swamp. 

Bing ran almost between the hound’s 
legs before he noticed him, and the fox was 
following him so closely that he barely es¬ 
caped the open jaws of the foxhound. In 
a flash the entire scene changed. From 
being the pursuer, the fox became the pur¬ 
sued ; and it was a desperate race. Again 
and again the hound reached for him, and 
he barely escaped, but finally the fox 
evaded his pursuer and Bing heard the 
deep baying of the hound die away in the 
distance. 



The sudden appearance of a large foxhound.—P age 74. 















ALONE IN THE WORLD 75 


It was on the tenth day of his hiding in 
the swamp that a young farmer who hap¬ 
pened to go to the woods discovered him. 
Even then, he was not at first sure that 
the small animal that scurried away so 
rapidly was a dog. But he was one of 
those to whom Mr. Browning had tele¬ 
phoned. So he began whistling and call¬ 
ing, but it was at least fifteen minutes be¬ 
fore he could coax the terrified little dog 
into the open. And this was only a begin¬ 
ning, for it took another half-hour to coax 
him up where he could get a hand on him. 
Finally, cringing and crawling on his 
belly, poor Bing crept to the man’s feet, 
and he stooped down and picked him up. 

What a forlorn little chap he was! His 
hair was rough and unkempt, his ears and 
lips were frostbitten, and he was so ema¬ 
ciated and weak that he could hardly 
stand. 


76 


BING 


The young man hurried to the house 
with him and soon he was lapping fran¬ 
tically at a pan of warm milk. He would 
gulp it down until he choked, and then 
would run about the room choking and 
whimpering. Soon they discovered that 
the heat from the stove made the frost¬ 
bitten ears ache and smart. 

“ I guess we had better get him home as 
soon as possible. I will hitch up the horse 
at once,” said the young man. 

Mr. Browning was getting a few last 
winks of his morning sleep when Mrs. 
Browning burst into his room. 

“Lawrence, wake up!” she cried. 
“ You can never guess who is here.” 

But Mr. Browning did not need to 
guess, for the newcomer was already on 
the bed licking the man’s face frantically 
and trying in every way to express his 
boundless dog love. 


ALONE IN THE WORLD 77 


“ It’s Bing,” cried Mrs. Browning ex¬ 
citedly, “ and he is back. He is very 
weak, and his soft little ears are frost¬ 
bitten. If he goes near the stove, it makes 
him whimper. But I guess he is all right, 
aside from that. We can patch him up all 
right, and he is mighty glad to get home.” 

“ I see he is,” returned Mr. Browning 
stroking the small dog gently. “ We’ve 
been anxious about you, little pup.” 

Bing began all over again, kissing his 
master’s face and wagging his tail to tell 
him how glad he was to be home. 

He had learned his lesson well, although 
it had been at a terrible cost. He knew 
now what home meant. Yes, it was 
“ Home, Sweet Home,” the only place on 
earth for Bing from that time forth. This 
was his haven, and he was anchored here 
for the rest of his life. 







CHAPTER IV 

BING GROWS UP 

Of all the puppies ever raised at Sun¬ 
shine Cottage, Bing was the most unfor¬ 
tunate. All of the ills that puppyhood is 
heir to seemed to come to him. This was 
partly because of his sorry adventure while 
he was in hiding in the swamp during 
those ten dreadful days in winter. Every 
one to whom the adventure was described 

78 









BING GROWS UP 79 

said it was a miracle that he ever came 
through alive. 

For weeks he suffered from frostbitten 
ears. They were especially painful when¬ 
ever he went near the stove and, since 
his favorite hiding-place was under the 
kitchen range, he often felt a burning and 
smarting in the frostbitten ears from being 
near the stove. Then he would climb 
whimpering into his master’s lap and that 
patient man would take him to the sink 
and bathe his ears until the pain had 
abated. It was not so hard to do this in 
the daytime, but at night it was quite an¬ 
other story. Several times each night Mr. 
Browning would hear the whimpering of 
the little dog down in the kitchen and 
would crawl out of his warm bed and, in 
bathrobe and slippers, go down and minis¬ 
ter to the suffering puppy. But the little 
dog was so patient and so grateful for all 


80 


BING 


their efforts that they loved him more each 
day, even though he caused them so much 
trouble. 

The ears had barely healed when the 
little hound developed stomatitis, a serious 
disease of the mouth. When the veteri¬ 
nary first looked into Bing’s mouth, he 
shook his head. 

“You will have to keep right after this 
trouble or you will lose him,” he said. 
“ Get a bottle of peroxide of hydrogen and 
sop it on the gums. Do this several times 
each day, and don’t neglect it if you want 
to keep your dog.” 

So, half a dozen times each day, Mr. 
Browning would get Bing between his 
knees and hold his mouth open, pulling 
the lips back from the gums so that Mrs. 
Browning could sop on the remedy, using 
a small swab for the purpose. After a 
few treatments, Bing seemed to under- 


BING GROWS UP 


81 


stand that they were trying to do him 
good, so, as soon as he was in position, his 
tail would begin to thump the floor and he 
would keep up the thumping until the 
operation was over. 

After the stomatitis had been con¬ 
quered, a swelling came in the neck. This 
soon developed into a very angry-looking 
abscess. The only remedy was a hot ap¬ 
plication, so an old stocking was filled with 
steaming bread and milk, the end was 
sewed up, and then it was sewed around 
Bing’s neck. When this strange necktie 
was in place, he was a very queer-looking 
little object. He seemed to know that 
this was done for his good, and was very 
grateful and would wag his tail while the 
bread-and-milk poultice was being re¬ 
newed. 

The pain in his neck was so great that he 
often ran whimpering to his master or mis- 


82 BING 

tress in the night to have them renew the 
poultice and so keep down the pain. 

t 

Then there were the usual small troubles 
with worms and fleas, not to mention baths 
with flea soap and generous sprinklings 
with flea powder. 

When the springtime came and the 
little dog could get out on the lawn and 
play in the green grass, the Brownings 
thought their troubles were over. But, 
one day when he was playing with another 
puppy in the street, an automobile 
bowled him over and passed over him even 
before he knew what had happened. 

Mrs. Browning witnessed the accident 
from the piazza and ran to his assistance, 
but he scrambled to his feet to the surprise 
of every one and ran yelping into the yard 
and out into the orchard. Around and 
around the place he ran, ki-yi-ing and oc¬ 
casionally stopping to roll on the grass. 


BING GROWS UP 83 

It was at least five minutes before he 
quieted down enough for his good friends 
to examine him and see what was the mat¬ 
ter, but they could not discover any 
broken or dislocated bones. He had es¬ 
caped as by a miracle, merely suffering a 
bad shaking up. 

In the late spring, or by the time Bing 
was nine months old, he had developed 
into a very alert little watch-dog, without 
any training on the part of his master. 
His first accomplishment was the guarding 
of the inside of the house. When the 
front door-bell rang or some one knocked 
on the back door, he would come scram¬ 
bling down from the window-seat to take 
up his position by the side of his master or 
mistress, uttering belligerent little growls. 
This was his way of telling the caller to 
beware, for there was a dog in the house. 

From guarding the inside of the house, 


84 


BING 


he gradually assumed censorship over the 
outside. On cold days, he would station 
himself in the bay window and watch the 
passers-by. If any one turned into the 
walk to come up on the piazza, he at once 
barked and ran to tell his master or mis¬ 
tress that some one was coming. Later 
on, when it was warmer, he would lie by 
the cellar window on the south side of the 
house and, from this vantage point, he 
guarded the entire premises. If any one 
so much as stepped a foot upon his mas¬ 
ter’s land, the little dog at once gave 
warning. 

In the springtime when his mistress be¬ 
gan to dig among her flowers, he was 
always on hand to watch the process. He 
would lie in the grass for hours looking up 
at his mistress with adoring eyes, yet it 
was exasperating to find one of his dirty 
bones in the very midst of the tulip-bed. 


BING GROWS UP 


85 


When Bing was scolded because of the 
bone, he would carry it away and hide it 
under a bush, but it was quite apt to turn 
up again in the tulip-bed or in some other 
equally choice flower-bed. 

Bing very early conceived the idea that 
his mistress’ flowers were very dear to her, 
so he guarded them from the depredations 
of children in a most zealous manner. 

Bird Acre, as the Brownings called their 
grounds, was generously stocked with 
fruit, and the little watchman had to guard 
this, also, but his mistress often hinted that 
his efforts along these lines were not al¬ 
together altruistic, as he was very fond of 
fruit himself, but Mr. Browning scoffed at 
this idea and said that he would guard a 
pumpkin vine just as faithfully as he did 
the pear-tree, if he knew it belonged to his 

master. 

% 

Pew dogs have ever been so fond of 


86 BING 

fruit as was this little hound. When the 
first currants ripened, he would search 
carefully along under the side of the 
bushes and snip them off one by one. But 
it was not until his mistress was picking 
strawberries that the fruit season for him 
really opened. He would follow after her 
all over the bed, searching for the ripe 
berries. Raspberries and blackberries 
were also quite to his liking, but probably 
the fruit that suited him best of all was 
that from the pear-trees. He was es¬ 
pecially fond of an early sweet pear. As 

\ 

soon as the pears began to fall, woe betide 
any boy who tried to pilfer the Brownings’ 
fruit, for did one so much as set a foot 
upon the place, the little watchman was 
after him. He never tried to bite, but 
would circle round and round his victim, 
barking incessantly. He seemed to be 
calling to his master to come and help him. 


BING GROWS UP 87 


“ I’ve got him, I’ve got him, I’ve got 
him,” his sharp barks seemed to be saying. 
“ You come and help hold him.” 

The peach-trees and plum-trees had to 
be guarded from boys, and it was not 
until the last tomatoes and late apples 
were gathered that the vigilance of the 
little watchman was in any way dimin¬ 
ished. 

Bing soon learned the habitual callers 
to the house—the butcher, iceman, laun¬ 
dry-man, grocer, and all the other 
tradesmen. He early evinced a dislike for 
the electric-light man, for he would come 
stamping into the house without knocking 
or ringing the bell as a respectable citizen 
should do. This greatly angered the little 
watchman. 

Bing also learned that it was one of his 
duties as watchman to guard the wheel¬ 
barrow, the lawn-mower, and any other 



88 


BING 


garden or lawn tools which had been left 
outside. By the time he was a year old, 
Mr. Browning said that any one who could 
take either flowers or fruit when the little 
dog was on guard would be welcome to 
them. 

Perhaps the greatest fun that Bing ex¬ 
perienced in guarding the place w T as that 
of driving off trespassing chickens, for, 
when he chased them, they squawked and 
flapped their wings and made a great fuss, 
which made the whole affair very exciting. 
He soon learned that he should not drive 
them beyond the boundary line, so, in 
time, he came to know where the bound¬ 
aries were as well as his master did. 

Bird Acre, as you will guess, was a 
haven for the birds, as the Brownings were 
very fond of their feathered friends. They 
fed them throughout the year, put up bird- 
houses, and also helped in nest-building. 


BING GROWS UP 


89 


For this reason, the entire grounds were 
fairly alive with birds. 

Woodpeckers, flycatchers, tanagers, and 
grackles swarmed in the orchard. Robins 
and other small birds nested in the pear- 
trees near the house. The catbirds reared 
their young in the lilac-bushes north of the 
house, while the oriole swung her nest from 
a branch in the top of the elm-tree. 

Stray cats were always prowling about 
in search of fledglings, and Bing conceived 
the idea that he must guard the birds from 
these stray cats. If ever on rare occasions 
the Professor forgot himself and tried to 
stalk a bird, Bing would at once place him¬ 
self between the old cat and his quarry. 
So, on many occasions, he saved some of 
the rare songsters on Bird Acre, includ¬ 
ing a wonderful catbird that the Brown¬ 
ings called The Little Chorister. 

Mr. Browning was continually drawn 


90 


BING 


into arguments with his dog-fancier 
friends as to the merits of large or small 
dogs for watch-dogs. The master de¬ 
fended Bing, that his dog-fancier friends 
thought was too small for a watch-dog. 

He always concluded his argument in 
the same way. “You see, Bing can make 
as much noise as any large dog, and that is 
all that is necessary. No one wants a 
watch-dog that will bite. It is simply his 
office to make a great racket and call his 
folks, and they will do all the fighting.” 

But when Bing was about eleven 
months old, he put up a fight in the de¬ 
fence of his mistress that made Mr. 
Browning proud of him, and which vin¬ 
dicated all he had said in favor of the little 
watchman. 

It was an evening in late August, just 
after dusk. Mrs. Browning was in the 
kitchen working over the cook-stove with 


BING GROWS UP 


91 

her back to the door when a sinister-look¬ 
ing tramp silently lifted the latch and 
noiselessly stepped inside. 

“ Don’t cry out,” he hissed under his 
breath, raising his hand threateningly. “ I 
want what money there is in the house, 
and you’ve got to give it to me quick.” 

In spite of herself, Mrs. Browning ut¬ 
tered a little cry as she turned to face the 
man. Bing had been lying on the win¬ 
dow-seat in a deep sleep, else he would 
have heard the man sooner, although he 
had entered silently. But this slight out¬ 
cry from his mistress brought him to his 
feet and, before the man even guessed his 
presence, he sprang at his throat like a 
little fury. 

Taken off his guard, the intruder backed 
away, then let his half-clenched fist fall 
heavily on the side of the small dog’s head, 
sending him to the floor with a loud 


92 


BING 


thump. But Bing was game and was up 
again like a flash and sank his teeth in the 
tramp’s trouser leg just above the knee, 
also including in his grip a portion of the 
man’s leg. 

“ Get out, you little devil,” roared the 
now infuriated burglar, kicking at the 
small dog with his other leg, but Bing held 
on with a desperate grip and the man 
could not break his hold. 

“ Don’t you dare kick that dog again,” 
cried Mrs. Browning, seizing a heavy 
poker that lay on the stove hearth and 
brandishing it over the man’s head. “ I 
will dash your brains out if you dare to 
kick him again.” 

Seeing that he was threatened from two 
quarters and being now fully cowed, the 
tramp backed away towards the door, put¬ 
ting up one hand to ward off the poker 
and striking at Bing with the other. 


BING GROWS UP 


93 


“ You call off your dog, ma’am,” he 
finally blubbered, “ and I will get out.” 

But there was no calling off Bing. His 
mistress had been attacked and he in¬ 
tended fully to avenge the insult. So it 
was not until after the tramp was out in 
the yard that he loosed his hold and let 
him go, and even then he circled around 
and around the fleeing impostor, snarling 
and barking like a little fury. And he 
did not give up the pursuit until the tramp 
was well off the premises. 

A couple of weeks later Mrs. Browning 
noticed another hobo standing by the 
maple in front of the house, looking at 
a strange monogram that some one had 
recently cut in the smooth bark of the tree. 
The tramp was scrutinizing this character 
so intently that the woman’s curiosity was 
aroused and she finally ventured to accost 
him. 


94 


BING 


“ Perhaps you know what that strange 
figure means,” she said. 

“ Reckon I do, ma’am,” returned the 
hobo. “ It is as plain to me as the nose on 
your face.” 

“ I wish you would tell me what it 
means,” returned the woman. “ I am 
quite curious to know.” 

The tramp grinned at her quizzically, 
and a look of avarice overspread his face. 

“ I’ll tell you for a dollar, ma’am,” he 
said, “ and that’s my lowest figure.” 

“ I’ll give you twenty-five cents,” re¬ 
turned Mrs. Browning. 44 I don’t care 
much what it means, anyway.” 

“ Make it fifty,” said the hobo. 

“ All right,” replied Mrs. Browning, 
holding up a shiny half-dollar. “ What 
does it mean? ” 

“ Well,” said the tramp, “ that’s a little 
sign that some friend of mine put on this 


BING GROWS UP 


95 


tree to tell me that there’s a nasty little 
dog in this house that will tear your 
trousers off, if you do not look out for 
him.” 

Mrs. Browning laughed. “ He is not a 
nasty little dog,” she retorted, “ but he 
will tear your trousers off if you get bold 
around here, so you had better move on,” 
and she gave him the half-dollar. 

The hobo first smelled the money, then 
bit it and weighed it in his palm before 
he put it in his pocket. He then hurried 
down the street, occasionally looking back 
over his shoulder to see if that nasty little 
dog that might tear his trousers had put 
in an appearance. 

One evening, about the middle of Sep¬ 
tember, Mr. and Mrs. Browning sat at 
the supper table with Bing on the floor 
between them. He was most impartial 
and always sat half-way between them, not 


96 


BING 


wishing to slight either. Before they had 
sat down to supper, he had walked lei¬ 
surely around the table, standing on his 
hind legs making a careful inventory of 
the food on it. He had discovered a plate 
of gingersnaps which were quite to his 
liking, and he was now on his good be¬ 
havior, thinking that, if Mr. Browning 
did not give him some, his mistress would. 

When the man reached for his tea, he 
surreptitiously slid off a gingersnap and 
dropped it in his lap, where Bing found 
it a minute later. 

“You mustn’t feed him at the table,” 
remonstrated Mrs. Browning. “ You’ll 
spoil his manners.” 

“* Weren’t you feeding him toast a 
minute ago? ” returned the man. “ I 
thought I heard him crunching it over by 
your chair.” 

“ Well,” returned Mrs. Browning, 


BING GROWS UP 


97 


“ you see, it is Bing’s birthday. He is a 
year old to-day. And besides, toast is 
good for him, and you know all the dog 
books say that cake and gingersnaps are 
harmful.” 

“ Well, the doctor’s books say that cake 
and gingersnaps are harmful for folks, 
but we eat them just the same, don’t we, 
Bing? ” and Mr. Browning threw him 
another gingersnap. 

44 1 don’t see,” he said, passing his cup 
for more tea, 44 but that the old, old thing 
has happened again, the thing which al¬ 
ways happens when we get a new dog.” 

44 Why, what do you mean? ” inquired 
Mrs. Browning in surprise, returning the 
cup filled with hot tea. 

44 Oh, just the same old thing. Once 
more we have given our hearts to a dog to 
tear.” 

“ Why, Bing wouldn’t even tear my 


98 


BING 


finger, much less my heart,” returned the 
mistress. “You ought to see how gently 
he takes the toast from my hand.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mean that! ” replied the 
master. “ Don’t you remember Kipling’s 
poem, ‘ The Power of a Dog 9 ? 

44 4 When the fourteen years which Nature per¬ 
mits 

Are closing in asthma, or tumor, or fits, 
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs 
To lethal chambers or loaded guns, 

Then you will find — it's your own affair — 
But . . . you've given your heart to a 

dog to tear' " 


CHAPTER V 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 

Until the coming of the little fellow 
into his life, Bing had never cared very 
much for children; in fact, his attitude to¬ 
wards them had been either one of sus¬ 
picion or indifference. There were no 
children at Sunshine Cottage, and, while 
many parties of young people came to 
visit Mr. Browning because of his books 

for children, yet Bing had had little to 

99 



100 BING 

do with them, because he was usually out 
in the kitchen or somewhere outside when 
these visits took place. But with the com¬ 
ing of the little fellow, his attitude towards 
children was changed. The little fellow 
was Mr. Browning’s nephew, and he was 
as sweet a little boy as ever wore a natty 
sailor suit or smiled up at you from under 
a jaunty sailor hat. According to his own 
statement, he was half-past five, which 
meant that he was born on the first day of 
December, and when he and his parents 
visited the Brownings, everybody and 
everything was “ knee-deep in June.” 

When the visitors arrived, there was 
much excitement at Sunshine Cottage, 
and Bing at once retreated to the kitchen 
where he stood in the doorway eyeing the 
newcomers curiously. As soon as the little 

fellow discovered him, he shouted with 

» * 

delight and rushed to the kitchen, but 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 101 


Bing at once retreated under the range. 
This was his favorite refuge when he was 
tired and wanted to sleep. The little fel¬ 
low got down on his hands and knees and 

tried to coax him out. Bing growled 

• 

warningly, but would not come forth. 

It was not an ugly growl, but just one 
of admonishment. It seemed to say: “ Go 
away, boy, I do not know you! We are 
not friends yet.” 

The little fellow ran to his uncle in 
great surprise and climbed up into his lap. 

44 Why doesn’t Bing like me? ” he asked 
in an injured tone. 44 Every one likes me, 
down where I live.” 

44 Oh, you mustn’t mind that,” returned 
his uncle. 44 You see, Bing doesn’t know 
you and he has never had much to do 
with children. As soon as he gets ac¬ 
quainted, you and he will be great pals. 
You just wait and see. Besides, he has 


102 


BING 


had to guard the place from bad girls who 
steal flowers and bad boys who rob the 
pear-tree and berry-patch, so that has 
made him suspicious of children. But you 
wait for a few days. Be patient, and Bing 
will come to you himself and make 
friends! ” 

Bing did not at once declare friendship 
with the little fellow. For several days, 
he eyed him from a distance, but each day 
his curiosity as to this newcomer who was 
so much beloved by his master and mis¬ 
tress grew. Perhaps when he saw the 
little fellow climb into his own favorite 
resting-place, Mr. Browning’s lap, he ex¬ 
perienced a qualm of jealousy, but even 
this helped in breaking the ice. Finally 
one day, after about a week, Mr. Brown¬ 
ing and his nephew were sitting on the 
front-door steps when Bing came around 
to the other side of his master and snug- 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 103 


gled up close to him. Mr. Browning 
reached down and took the little dog by 
the collar. 

“ You come around on this side,” he 
said to the small boy. “ I guess Bing is 
ready to have you pat his head.” 

Delighted with this prospect, the small 
boy hastened to do his uncle’s bidding. 
At first Bing drew away, but finally con¬ 
sented to have his head stroked and his 
long, silky ears fondled. Presently he 
reached up and gave the little fellow a 
kiss on the cheek and then one on the 
mouth, and their friendship was sealed 
then and there. 

Overjoyed with the progress he was 
making, the little boy put his arms around 
Bing’s neck and hugged him with delight. 
From that day forth the two were insepa¬ 
rable and, wherever the little fellow went, 
Bing followed like a faithful shadow. 


104 


BING 


With the coming of his nephew, the boy 
in Mr. Browning was reborn, and he made 
bows and arrows, quivers, and tomahawks, 
and all of the rest of the Indian regalia 
for his nephew. Soon a gaily decorated 
Indian was seen prowling about Bird 
Acre, with a faithful hunter following at 
his heels. They would creep forward with 
great stealth, stalking some imaginary 
quarry. If Bing became too excited and 
rushed forward, he was at once called back 
by his young master. Finally, the little 
fellow would kneel on one knee just like 
a picture of Hiawatha he had seen in a 
magazine, and the arrow would be dis¬ 
charged. Then both the Indian and the 
dog would rush forward to the kill. 

One day both the little boy and Bing 
were missing, and for half an hour there 
was an excited hunt for them. Finally 
they were discovered in a neighbor’s barn, 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 105 

asleep on some new-mown hay in a cow 
manger. 

Often Bing and his little comrade would 
seek out Mr. Browning, when he was not 
busy writing books, and would entreat him 
to tell them a story. He very early 
evolved the plan of making Bing the hero 
of these stories, and this greatly delighted 
his nephew. The small hoy and Bing 
would sit on either side of the man as he 
told the tales. In these stories Bing would 
be a hunter in a great forest, with his 
game-bag on his back, in search of strange 
and unheard-of animals. Finally, when 
one of these animals was discovered, 
there would be a terrible fight, at the end 
of which Bing would put the conquered 
quarry into his game-bag and return 
home. 

During the telling of these tales the 
little boy often clapped his hands with de- 


106 


BING 


light, while Bing, in best dog fashion, 
would thump his approval on the piazza 
floor with his tail. 

On other occasions, the little fellow 
would get out his express wagon and two 
neighboring boys would serve as horses. 
The small boy would take his place in the 
front of the wagon as driver, and Bing 
would sit in the back. He sat up straight 
as a drum-major, and looked very pom¬ 
pous and important. 

Whenever they met a pedestrian on the 
sidewalk, the little boy would stop his 
horses and, looking up with his most en¬ 
gaging smile, would ask: “Don’t you 
love Bing, Mister? ” 

If the pedestrian replied: “Yes, of 
course I do,” the smile he received was 
wonderful to behold. If, on the other 
hand, the pedestrian returned a doubtful 
answer, the little boy would look at him 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 107 


in undisguised astonishment and Bing 
himself would look reproachful. 

If the passer-by was so ungracious as to 
say he did not care for dogs, the little boy 
was nearly reduced to tears, while Bing 
would look away in utter disgust. 

Thus the summer passed and each day 
the friendship between the small boy and 
the dog grew. 

Some of the very best times that the 
little boy had during that wonderful sum¬ 
mer at Bird Acre were on those days 
when he went with his parents and Bing 
to Sandy Beach. This was a remarkable 
fresh-water beach at the foot of Broad 
Street. 

As one journeyed down to Sandy 
Beach through the meadows, he went by 
a winding road bordered with tall, lux¬ 
uriant, lush grass which rose and fell in 
the June breeze. The air was vibrant 


108 


BING 


with the liquid song of the bobolink; the 
redwing also joined in with his o-ka-lee 
song; while the meadow-lark filled in the 
gaps with his high, shrill whistle. The 
meadows stretched away as far as eye 
could reach, while the twin mountains 
dreamed in the distance against a cerulean 
sky. Away to the south as far as eye 
could reach was a gateway where the river 
had cut its way through the solid rock as 
it journeyed to the sea. It was a scene 
of surpassing beauty; and a wonderful 
sense of peace was over all the landscape. 

The little boy liked to dig in the sand, to 
make canals and inland lakes, as he called 
them, and, if he could catch some polly- 
wogs or shiners to put in his lakes, his cup 
of joy was full. Bing loved to romp with 
him on the sand, or to sit on his tail watch¬ 
ing the labors of his little master. 

On one never-to-be-forgotten day when 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 109 


the little boy and Bing had tired of their 
play, and the father was lying in the sand 
looking at the blue mountains and trying 
to think out a new plan for cutting down 
overhead and increasing the profits in a 
great store in the distant city, and while 
the little boy’s mother was reading an in¬ 
teresting book, the little fellow went wad¬ 
ing. Usually the whole family took a 
swim, but on this special day the man was 
busy with his business problems and the 
woman with her book, so finally, after 
much pleading, the little boy was allowed 
to don his bathing-suit and to wade, but 
he promised faithfully not to venture in 
above his waist. 

The beach was nearly deserted, the only 
other bathers being nearly a hundred 
yards away. 

For a time the little bov amused him- 
self close to the shore, but finally he be- 


110 BING 

came venturesome and waded out farther 
and farther. The beach was very sloping 
in most places, but at one point there was 
a treacherous shelf where the depth in¬ 
creased suddenly. This spot should have 
been marked by a red flag, but it was not. 
Suddenly the small boy threw up his arms 
and, without a sound, sank beneath the 
glittering surface of the great river. His 
father had been busy with his day-dreams 
at the time and his mother was engrossed 
in her book, so neither had seen the acci¬ 
dent. The other bathers had been too far 
away to see, but there was one pair of 
faithful eyes that had seen his dilemma. 
Bing was on guard, watching each move¬ 
ment of his little master, so, when he 
threw up his arms and went down so mys¬ 
teriously, the small hound sprang to his 
feet and rushed towards the water. In 
less time than it takes to tell it, he was 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 111 

swimming for the spot where his little 
master had disappeared. 

Almost at the same instant the man 
sprang from his prone position on the 
sand and looked wildly about him; the 
woman dropped her hook with a little cry. 
Neither had seen what had happened, yet 
both had had a sudden premonition of 
disaster. 

“ Where is the boy? ” cried the man, 
looking wildly about in every direction. 

“ Oh, where is he? ” echoed the woman. 
“ The last I saw of him, he was wading 
close to the shore. Where is Bing? 
What’s he doing swimming about out 
there? ” 

“ Perhaps the boy is in the bushes. I 
will look,” and the man hurried away, 
while the woman ran down the beach to 
ask the distant bathers if they had seen 
anything of a small boy. 


112 


BING 


Meanwhile, faithful little Bing was 
treading water just above the spot where 
he had last seen his small master. Twice 
during his swim to the spot he had seen 
the small head appear just above the 
water, and he now waited to see if it came 
in sight again. A full minute he waited, 
treading water, but no small boy ap¬ 
peared, though he thought he could see 
him lying on the bottom just beneath the 
spot where he was swimming. I have 
never heard of a dog’s diving, but in some 
incredulous manner Bing accomplished 
the feat. The water was not over three 
or four feet deep and, in some way best 
known to himself, he managed to reach his 
little master and to fasten his teeth in his 
bathing-suit. A second later he struggled 
to the surface and began painfully towing 
his heavy load towards the shore. 

“ My God, there he is! ” cried the man, 



“Hold on, Bing, hold on tight! ’’—Page 113 , 
























THE LITTLE FELLOW 113 

suddenly appearing from the bushes. 
“ Bing has got him. Hold on, Bing, hold 
on tight! ” 

He rushed into the water and waded 
out to the struggling dog. It was but the 
work of a few seconds for the strong man 
to bring the boy ashore, and Bing fol¬ 
lowed eagerly in their wake. 

The whole incident had taken only three 
or four minutes, but the little boy had 
taken so much water into his lungs that 
he was unconscious and he lay pale and, 
to all appearance, lifeless in his father’s 
arms. 

“ Some one run to the pavilion,” cried 
the man, “ and telephone for the pulmotor 
at Meadowdale! ” 

An obliging bather hastened to do the 
errand and, a few seconds later, the tele¬ 
phone bell rang in the fire-station at 
Meadowdale. 


114 


BING 


“All right,” said the deputy. “We’ll 
be over in no time.” 

Two men jumped into the chief’s auto¬ 
mobile, and one of them carried a suit¬ 
case. Then the doors of the engine-house 
opened automatically and the chief’s car 
rolled out. Five seconds later, it was 
tearing down Main Street which, at that 
time of day, was nearly deserted. A 
policeman saw the red machine coming 
and waved for pedestrians and automo¬ 
biles to give it the right of way, so, when 
the car flashed under the railroad track at 
the end of Main Street, it was going at 
the rate of forty miles an hour. Down 
the long street leading to the bridge the 
car increased its speed, and it struck the 
bridge at fifty miles an hour. Through 
the meadows the chief pressed the accel¬ 
erator to the floor, and the speedometer 
mounted to fifty-five, sixty, and then 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 115 

sixty-five. Like a whirlwind, the car 
rushed onward until Broad Street was 
reached. Then it slowed down again to 
make the turn. 

People in Meadowdale had never seen 
a car go down its principal street at such 
a rate of speed. Just six minutes after 
the telephone message had been delivered, 
two men sprang from the car at Sandy 
Beach and hastened to the relief of the 
little boy who still lay pale and limp on 
the sand. 

It was an anxious group that gathered 
around him, but not even the frantic 
mother or the grief-stricken father looked 
more pathetic or sorrowful than did a little 
hound that hung on the outskirts of the 
group. His face was drawn and wrinkled 
with dumb dog anguish that he had no 
words to express. 

For two minutes there was no sound 


116 


BING 


except that of the rhythmic sucking of the 
pulmotor. Then the chief shook his head. 

“ I’m afraid there’s water in his lungs,” 
he said. “ Take away the pulmotor.” 

Tenderly he turned the little fellow over 
on his stomach and, with one hand under 
his chest and the other on his back, tried 
to force out the water. 

“ Some one lift him up,” he said, “ and 
hold the body higher than the head. 
Here—do it this way.” 

Presently a small trickle of water was 
seen coming from his mouth. 

“ Good,” said the chief. 

When the water had ceased to flow, the 
pulmotor was again adjusted and its 
steady sucking began. 

After about a minute the little boy was 
heard to gasp, once, twice, three times, and 
then he heaved a deep sigh. 

“ Good,” cried the chief. “ I guess he 



THE LITTLE FELLOW 117 

is coming around all right. Take away 
the pulmotor.” 

As soon as this was done, the little boy 
gasped several times and then began 
breathing, at first in short spasmodic 
breaths, but finally deep and naturally. 
Then, to the surprise of everybody, he 
opened his eyes and raised himself on one 
elbow. 

“ I want Bing,” he said. “ Where is 
Bing? ” 

At the sound of his name, the small dog 
squeezed through between the legs of his 
friends and joyfully licked his young 
master’s face while the little boy stroked 
his head. 

“ If it hadn’t been for Bing,” he said, 
“ the whale that swallowed Jonah would 
have got me, too.” 

“ Don’t let him do too much,” said the 
chief. “ He is still weak. You will have 


118 BING 

to be careful that he doesn’t take cold. 
Wrap him up in a blanket and get him 
home as soon as possible. I can take him 
in my car.” 

“ I don’t want to go in the car,” whim¬ 
pered the little fellow. “ I want to go in 
my wagon with Bing.” 

“ But he will get you all wet,” put in 
the small boy’s mother. 

“ I can’t get any wetter than I am,” pro¬ 
tested the little fellow stoutly. “ Bing is 
the one that saved me, and I want him in 
my wagon.” 

“All right,” said the boy’s father, wip¬ 
ing off the dripping coat of the small dog 
as well as he could with his handkerchief. 

Then the little boy was wrapped in his 
mother’s sweater and, without a second in¬ 
vitation, Bing jumped in beside him and 
the triumphal procession started. 

The news of the accident and Bing’s 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 119 

heroic part in it spread like wild-fire, the 
children saw to that, and before the little 
party reached Sunshine Cottage, a dozen 
children were tagging after the small ex¬ 
press wagon and all eyes were riveted on 
Bing and, from that day forth, the beagle 
hound was a hero among the children of 
Shadyville. 

“ Say,” said Tommy Perkins to Billy 
Thompson that evening as he recounted 
the story. “ I ain’t a-gonna throw any¬ 
thing more at Bing. I ain’t gonna steal 
any more of his pears, because I might 
fall in the river sometime myself and I 
would want him to pull me out.” 

All too soon the summer passed. Al¬ 
most before any one realized it, the little 
boy and his parents were packing up to 
go home. All that eventful day, Bing 
followed his little master about like a 
shadow and stuck to him like a burr. In 


120 


BING 


some strange way he seemed to under¬ 
stand that he was about to lose him. 

Finally, when the taxi rolled away to 
the depot with his pal, he was the most 
sorrowful-looking member of the house¬ 
hold that waved good-bye from the piazza 
of Sunshine Cottage. 

In the evening after supper, Mr. 
Browning suddenly inquired: “Where is 
Bing? I haven’t seen him for two hours.” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Brown¬ 
ing. “ He is probably somewhere about 
the place. Why don’t you go out and 
see? ” 

So Mr. Browning went out and whis¬ 
tled and whistled, but got no response. 
Finally he heard the telltale thump of 
Bing’s tail on the back piazza, so he went 
out to see where he was, and he found the 
small dog lying on the mat close up to 
the back door and, do what he would, he 


THE LITTLE FELLOW 121 

could not coax him away. This was the 
door of the tenement where the little fel¬ 
low had lived during the summer, and 
Bing was on guard by his small master’s 
door, waiting for he knew not what. 

“ You poor little chap,” said Mr. 
Browning, patting the small dog affec¬ 
tionately on the head. “ I know just how 
you feel. The little fellow has taken 
away a piece of my heart, also. You come 
down-stairs with me and we will listen to 
the radio.” 

So Mr. Browning picked up the small 
dog in his arms and carried him down to 
the living-room and turned on the radio. 
But it was hours before Bing could shake 
off the sorrow that seemed to engulf him, 
and for days he haunted the door on the 
back piazza where the little fellow had 
lived during the happy time when they 
had been such good pals. 



CHAPTER VI 

his master’s eyes 

Few dogs have ever loved their fam¬ 
ilies more than little Bing did his, yet his 
attitude towards his master and mistress 
was quite different. Mrs. Browning he 
loved, yet Mr. Browning he loved, wor¬ 
shipped, and adored. He would take 
liberties with his mistress and, upon occa¬ 
sion, would even play pranks upon her or 

122 


* 





HIS MASTER’S EYES 123 

try to bully her, but with his master it was 
quite different. Mr. Browning had owned 
dogs ever since he was a small boy and 
understood them as few men do. Bing 

recognized this fact, and it was more 

* 

pleasure to him to obey his master than 
it was to play pranks on his mistress. 

It was quite by accident that Mrs. 
Browning discovered how deeply the dog 
loved his master. One day she chanced 
to go into the bathroom and, to her sur¬ 
prise, discovered Bing there. He was 
standing on his hind legs before a chair, 
caressing one of Mr. Browning’s old shirts 

that he had discarded that very morning. 

* 

Bing would move one side of his face up 
and down on the shirt, then he would turn 
the other cheek to this garment which re¬ 
minded him so strongly of his beloved 
master. His expressive dog countenance 
was eloquent with love. When he dis- 


124 BING 

covered that he was being watched, he ran 
to Mrs. Browning apologetically, but at 
once returned to the shirt and again began 
his expressions of endearment. 

“ That’s right, Bing,” said the mistress, 

4c he is a good man and I love him, also.” 

It was not until Bing was fifteen 
months old that he made a discovery con¬ 
cerning his master which greatly changed 
his attitude towards the man from that 
day. 

It was a warm spring morning in early 
April and Mr. Browning was sitting on 
the piazza in the sunshine, listening to the 
occasional bird songs that glorified the 
spring air. Several of their old friends 
had come back to Bird Acre. 

Bing and another small dog were hav¬ 
ing a wonderful romp in the yard. They 
were rolling each other over and over, 
snapping, snarling, and barking, and hav- 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 125 


ing a furious sham battle. Presently, 
above the din, there rang out a whistle, 
shrill, clear, and imperative. It was the 
call with which Mr. Browning always 
summoned Bing. Now a poorly trained 
dog might not have heeded it, but not so 
Bing. Instantly he withdrew from the 
sham battle and trotted to his master, 
eager to do his bidding. But it happened 
that, at just that time, a dump-cart went 
by, making a great rattling over the cob¬ 
ble-stones so Mr. Browning did not notice 
Bing’s approach. Again the shrill whistle 
rang out, and Bing glanced up at his mas¬ 
ter with a surprised expression. Once 
again Mr. Browning whistled shrilly, and 
then Bing put his front paws on the man’s 
knees. 

44 Why, Bing, good chap! You were 
here all the time,” exclaimed the man. 
44 What a stupid old fellow your master is! 


126 


BING 


Well, Bing, we can’t help it, so we shall 
have to make the best of it.” 

So from that day forth Bing under¬ 
stood that, when his master called him, he 
might not know of his approach unless 
he rattled the license tag on his collar, or 
barked, or opened his mouth very wide 
and said oow-ee-uu , which is a word in dog 
language meaning many things. 

Bing also soon discovered that his mas¬ 
ter sometimes missed the pathway leading 
from the sidewalk to the bone store. The 
bone store was a combination market and 
grocery, but the master and mistress al¬ 
ways referred to it as the bone store. This 
was out of respect to Bing, who under¬ 
stood the word “ bone.” In fact he under¬ 
stood a great many words, perhaps fifty, 
and also two or three dozen short sen¬ 
tences. So it will be seen that he was a 
very good companion when one had no 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 127 


human being to talk to. Bing likewise 
discovered that, when they returned from 
the bone store, his master would some¬ 
times go by the walk leading up to the 
house. This was most likely to happen 
when he had his arms full of bundles and 
could not freely use his cane, so Bing 
would run ahead of him and up the piazza 
walk rattling his little license tag to give 
the requisite cue. 

Each morning they took the half-mile 
walk to the post-office. When the master 
had secured his mail, he would call Bing 
over to the candy counter and ask him if 
he would have a stick of candy. Then 
Bing would stand upon his hind legs and 
peer through the glass at the tempting 
array of sweets. When the storekeeper 
asked what kind he would take, the master 
always replied, “ Cinnamon.” He said it 
was Bing’s favorite. Then the store- 


128 


BING 


keeper would ask why cinnamon was his 
favorite, and the master would reply: 
“ Because of the bark in it,” at which the 
storekeeper would laugh and all the chil¬ 
dren who were watching Bing stand on 
his hind legs would join in the laugh. 
Then Bing himself would know that some¬ 
thing funny had been said and would grin 
and wag his tail. After that, the master 
would break off a piece of the cinnamon 
candy and give it to Bing. When he had 
swallowed it with a gulp, as he usually 
did, he would bark three or four times to 
show that the bark in the candy was hav¬ 
ing the proper effect, at which the children 
were thrown into great glee. 

Bing’s master w T as a great joker, and 
Bing soon learned to watch for these 
pleasant things which his master said that 
made everybody so happy, and invariably 
he would grin and wag his tail at the right 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 129 

point, all of which soon gained him the 
reputation of being a dog of considerable 
humor. 

There was a strange psychological ac¬ 
cord between Bing and his master that has 
rarely been equalled between man and 
dog. If Mr. Browning was tired or dis¬ 
couraged, he could not hide it from this 
little pal. The dog also had a knowledge 
of his master’s whereabouts and move¬ 
ments that was almost uncanny. 

Often the master spent half the night in 
writing on his books, and so, in the morn¬ 
ing, he would be very late in getting up. 
But when he opened the door leading 
from his bedroom to the bathroom, no 
matter where little Bing was, in some 
strange way he knew it. He might be a 
hundred rods away playing with other 
dogs, but, at the instant this door clicked, 
he would turn his nose towards the house 


130 


BING 


and run with all liis might so that, when 
his master finally came down-stairs to 
breakfast, he would he standing at the 
foot of the stairway, rattling his collar in 
morning greeting. 

Bing’s fidelity in watching over his mas¬ 
ter was remarkable. The good people of 
the town observed it, and often strangers 
who came to the village noted the devotion 
of the little dog. When the master 
walked up and down in front of the house 
for exercise each morning, Bing would 
take up his position by the maple-tree 
opposite the front door, a faithful little 
sentry on guard. 

Frequently in the winter the master 
would go to the city, taking the trolley car 
at the corner by the bone store. No mat¬ 
ter how long he was gone or how cold it 
was, when he returned and alighted from 
the trolley car, little Bing would be wait- 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 131 

ing at the corner. Often he would lie in 
the snow for hours, shaking with the cold, 
patiently waiting for his master’s return. 
If Mr. Browning sat down of an evening 
to listen to the radio, Bing always came 
scurrying into the living-room and 
plumped himself down under the table 
close by. Then Mr. Browning would pick 
out some soft melodious music that he 
knew the dog liked. Bing would give a 
deep sigh of satisfaction and thump the 
floor with his tail. One evening the two 
were listening to a lecture from a near-by 
college. The subject was geology. One 
of the professors was very much excited 
about a new fossil-bone he had discovered 
that very day, during one of his walks. 
At the sound of the word, bone, Bing’s tail 
began thumping the floor and his mouth 
began to water. Again and again the pro¬ 
fessors used this word in their discussion. 


132 BING 

t 

“ How old do you think this bone is? ” 
finally inquired one of the professors. 

“ Oh,” replied the other, “ perhaps it is 
two hundred and fifty million years.” 

By this time Bing was standing in his 
excitement. He could even smell that 
bone, but at this statement the master 
broke into peals of laughter, and poor 
Bing fled to the kitchen and hid under the 
stove. He did not know just what had 
happened, but the joke was on him, and 
he knew it full well. 

We often read of dogs that detect un¬ 
seen danger and guard the folks they love 
from it. Many a time little Bing kept his 
master from getting lost, and on one occa¬ 
sion he even saved him from a severe 
injury. 

The man had gone to the post-office one 
morning without Bing. At the time he 
had been visiting a neighbor’s dog and 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 133 

did not hear his master’s whistle. Mr. 
Browning had stopped at a neighbor’s 
house near by for a call, so that Bing had 
time to come home and crawl under the 
kitchen stove and fall fast asleep, without 
even knowing his master had gone. 

Presently his sleep beneath the stove 
became troubled. He whimpered and 
whined and then came scratching out from 
under his favorite hiding-place and started 
for the front door. His efforts to open it 
were so frantic that Mrs. Browning hur¬ 
ried to his assistance. 

As she flung the door wide open, he 
shot out of the house like a rocket and ran 
up the street as she had never seen him run 
before. 

“ What in the world is the matter with 
him? ” exclaimed his mistress excitedly. 

She ran to the end of the piazza to 
watch his wild flight. At the corner by 


134 BING 

the bone store he turned and took the 
street leading to the post-office. Then 
Mrs. Browning went into the house that 
she might follow his flight from the north 
kitchen window. The street leading to the 
post-office had few houses on it, so she 
could get an occasional glimpse of him in 
the spaces between the buildings. 

“ I do believe he has gone stark mad! ” 
she exclaimed, as she followed the frenzied 
flight of the little dog. 

At the next gap she discovered Mr. 
Browning walking at a rapid stride along 
the street towards the post-office. Bing 
was perhaps two hundred feet behind; 
then, when they came to the next gap, she 
saw the dog quicken his pace and, half¬ 
way between the two houses, he was seen 
to spring upon his master and grab him 
by the trouser leg. Then, as nearly as 
Mrs. Browning could discover, he braced 


HIS MASTER’S EYES 135 

his paws and pulled back with all his 
might. 

“ What a strange performance,” said 
his mistress. “ I can’t make it out, but I 

don’t believe he would bite Mr. Brown- 

• >> 

mg. 

Then several people came running up, 
and there seemed to be an animated dis¬ 
cussion. Finally Mr. Browning and Bing 
turned about and hurried home. Mrs. 
Browning met them at the front door. 

“ What in the world has got into 
Bing? ” she asked. “ He was lying under 
the kitchen stove asleep, and he shot out 
from under it like a bullet and nearly tore 
the front door down before I could open 
it for him. Then he ran u}3 the street as 
though he had lost his wits, and I thought 
it looked as though he tried to bite you 
or tear your trousers.” 

“ He didn’t do anything of the kind,” 


186 


BING 


returned Mr. Browning stoutly. “You 
can thank your lucky stars to-day that we 
have got him. One more step and I should 
have plunged into an open sewer, a fall 
of six or eight feet. It would have cost 
me a broken leg at the very least, and 
possibly have crippled me for life. The 
ditch was dug directly across the sidewalk, 
and there was no one to warn me of it.” 

Mrs. Browning knelt down on the floor 
and took the little dog in her arms. He 
kissed her upon each cheek and then on 
the mouth. 

“ Bingsey, you’re a dear little dog,” she 
said, “ and there is not money enough in 
the whole world to buy you.” 


CHAPTER VII 


A TIMELY TRICK 

Bing was never a great trick dog, not 
that he did not have the capacity to learn 
tricks, but his master did not have time to 
teach them to him. Yet he invented many 
little tricks of his own that were most 
clever for a dog, and showed considerable 
reasoning power. 

One morning in early spring Mrs. 

Browning discovered Bing in the yard 

gnawing a well-polished ham-bone. He 

had been working on this bone for two 

days, and the goodness was all gone out 

137 







138 BING 

of it. As Mrs. Browning saw the dog 
working away wistfully at the meager 
bone, a bright idea came to her and she 
took the bone into the wood-shed and, with 
two or three sharp blows of the hatchet, 
split it from end to end, thus laying open 
a fine section of marrow, succulent, and 
very much to a dog’s liking. 

If any one had observed Bing the fol¬ 
lowing morning, he might have seen him 
trotting hither and thither about the place, 
digging holes in the garden and also in 
some of Mrs. Browning’s choicest flower¬ 
beds. Finally Bing came to the kitchen 
door and barked sharply, as he always did 
when he wanted to be let in or wished to 
attract the attention of his family. But 
Mrs. Browning was busy sweeping, so 
paid no attention to him. Then Bing ran 
barking towards the sidewalk, just as 
though the place had been invaded by at 


A TIMELY TRICK 


139 


least half a dozen ugly tramps. Mrs. 
Browning at once went to the door, but no 
intruder was in sight. Instead, little Bing 
sat on the lower step looking up at her, 
grinning and wagging his tail furiously. 

“ What is it, Bing? ” inquired his mis¬ 
tress. 

Delighted at being recognized, the little 
hound trotted around to the wood-shed, 
looking back over his shoulder to see if 
his mistress was coming. Mrs. Browning 
who was an adept at dog language under¬ 
stood, so she followed, wondering what 
was up. 

Bing stopped before the chopping-block 
and looked back imploringly at his mis¬ 
tress, saying, just as plainly as a dog could 
talk with his ears and tail: “Don’t you 
see what a wonderful collection I’ve got. 
Please help me with them.” 

Mrs. Browning looked and, to her great 


140 


BING 


surprise, saw at least twenty old bones 
piled up by the chopping-block. There 
were beef-bones and ham-bones, ribs and 
hock-bones, in all stages of disintegration. 
Some of them were so putrid that Mrs. 
Browning made Bing carry them away to 
the garden, but several of the most prom¬ 
ising she split with the hatchet, and so pro¬ 
vided the enterprising Bing with a good 
two-days’ feast. 

The one trick that Mr. Browning 
taught Bing was to put out a lighted 
match. The master would light a match 
and hold it out, saying, “Put it out, 
Bing,” and he would fly at it like a little 
fury, striking with his paw until he had 
quite extinguished the flame. Then, if the 
smoldering match did not die down quick 
enough to suit him, he would take it in 
his mouth and so smother it. 

This was a trick that greatly pleased 


A TIMELY TRICK 


141 


Bing’s friends, but the master was obliged 
to forbid the children lighting matches for 
Bing to put out, as it was too much of a 
fire hazard. 

One day when the Browning family re¬ 
turned home after several hours’ absence, 
they discovered that Bing’s trick of put¬ 
ting out a match had stood the whole 
household in good stead. As soon as Mr. 
Browning opened the front door, he 
smelled smoke, and both he and the mis¬ 
tress hurried in to see what was the matter. 
Bing at once led them to the living-room 
where a large hole had been burned in the 
best rug. A spark had probably snapped 
from the fireplace and ignited the rug dur¬ 
ing their absence, but all traces of the fire 
were now extinguished. 

“ I wonder how it happened to go out 
of its own accord,” said Mrs. Browning. 

“ I don’t think it did,” replied her hus- 


142 BING 

band. “ Take a look at Bing’s nose and 
his paws.” 

His suggestion was a good one, for both 
the nose and paws were black with smoke 
and the dog’s nose was slightly burned. 

“ Good dog,” said Mr. Browning. “ So 
you were the little fireman that put out 
the fire,” and Bing acknowledged his part 
in the happening as well as a dog could. 

Every evening when Mrs. Browning 
went down cellar to look at the furnace, 
Bing always went with her, if he was 
around. Sometimes he would investigate 
rat holes excitedly or dig holes of his own 
accord, but usually he would sit on the 
top of the wood-pile near by, observing 
every movement of his mistress. 

One evening the two had gone to the 
cellar as usual and, after raking out the 
coals beneath the grate and leaving them 
on the cement floor to cool, Mrs. Brown- 


A TIMELY TRICK 


143 


ing stooped down to pick up the coal 
shovel which had tumbled down from its 
position near the coal-bin. As she did so, 
the bottom of her skirt touched the glow¬ 
ing coals. It was only for an instant, but 
it was just long enough for the dress to 
ignite. There was a spurt of bright flame, 
and Mrs. Browning sprang to her feet 
with a scream of fright. 

But the little fireman from his perch on 
the wood-pile had seen the sudden tongue 
of flame and, in two bounds, he was by 
his mistress’ side. He caught the skirt 
in his teeth and pulled at it vehemently, 
beating frantically at the blazing dress 
with his paws. The flames were several 
times beaten out, but they would flash up 
again. Finally Bing gave a desperate 
wrench, and most of the smoking, blazing 
dress was torn from his beloved mistress, 
and the little fireman valiantly beat out 


144 BING 

the last of the flame, once he had the dress 
on the floor. 

It all happened so quickly that Mrs. 
Browning hardly knew what had taken 
place, hut she did realize that her back 
was smarting and burning, and that most 
of her dress was gone. So she hurried up¬ 
stairs and called to Mr. Browning to 
bring her her bathrobe. 

“ Hurry,” she said. “ I have just es¬ 
caped a terrible accident.” 

There was so much excitement in get¬ 
ting another dress for the mistress and 
lotions for the burns that, for the time be¬ 
ing, Bing was forgotten. Finally Mr. 
Browning went down cellar to discover 
what he was up to. 

He found him groping blindly about 
the cellar, whimpering and trying vainly 
to feel his way to the cellar stairs. He 
made such bad work of it that Mr. Brown- 


A TIMELY TRICK 


145 


ing picked him up in his arms and carried 
him up-stairs. 

“ His eyelids are swollen terribly,” 
cried Mrs. Browning, “ and his eyebrows 
are nearly burned off. His nose is blis¬ 
tered, and I do not think he can see a 
thing. See how he bumps into the furni¬ 
ture. I hope the poor little fellow is not 
going to be blind.” 

“ Heaven forbid! ” said Mr. Browning, 
and he hurried to the office to telephone 
for the veterinary. 

“ It is impossible for me to tell at pres¬ 
ent whether the eyesight is affected or 
not,” said the dog doctor. “ His eyelids 
are so badly swollen that it will take a day 
or two to get them open so we can see 
what shape his eyes are in. Don’t worry; 
perhaps he will be all right.” 

So, for the next two or three days, in¬ 
stead of Bing being his master’s eyes, his 


146 


BING 


master was his eyes and gladly toted him 
about from room to room, placing him 
first on the couch and then on the window- 
seat in the living-room, which was his 
favorite bed. Finally, the swelling in the 
eyelids went down and the eyes that had 
been so alert before the accident again 
opened and, to the great joy of all, the 
veterinary pronounced the sight unim¬ 
paired, so little Bing again took his place 
as his master’s eyes. 

Each spring when it became warm 
enough, Bing’s bed was moved from the 
kitchen to the garage where he had a fine 
kennel back of the car. The Brownings 
always felt easier about the place when 
Bing took up his quarters in the garage, 
as he could then come and go at any hour 
of the day or night and so keep a sharp 
watch over their property. 

As soon as he moved into the garage, 


A TIMELY TRICK 147 

Bing himself changed his manner of liv¬ 
ing and slept more in the daytime and less 
at night, just as a well-trained watch-dog 
should. Even when he was asleep, he was 
on guard, for any unusual sound or scent 
would awaken him, so well were his senses 
trained to guard his master’s property 
from all trespassing. 

One morning about the first of April, 
the spring after he had rescued his mis¬ 
tress from the flames in the cellar, Bing 
suddenly awoke from a sound sleep and 
sprang up in his kennel. He did not 
usually get up until about daylight, but 
something out of the ordinary had aroused 
him, so he stuck his head cautiously out 
of the kennel door and sniffed the air ap¬ 
praisingly, while he listened with cocked 

ears for any unusual sound. 

There was something about the air that 
he did not just like, so he crawled out of 


148 BING 

his kennel and felt his way in the dark¬ 
ness to a small opening which had been 
made in the garage door for his special use. 
As he thrust his head out in the open, a 
fresh puff of morning wind blew full in his 
face, and the mystery of his sudden awak¬ 
ening was plain. He smelled smoke. 
With a half-smothered growl, he trotted 
into the yard and looked about in every 
direction, but could not make out just 
where the smoke came from. Then, to his 
great astonishment, a lighted match, or 
what seemed to him to be a lighted match, 
came floating down out of the air above 
him and fell almost under his nose. He 
was upon it like a cat on a mouse, strik¬ 
ing at the flame with his paws, and soon 
had it extinguished. But, almost imme¬ 
diately, another match fell in the grass 
close to him, and this one was much larger 
and brighter than the first had been, so 


A TIMELY TRICK 


149 


he pounced on it and had quite a struggle 
in putting it out. 

This had barely been accomplished 
when two more matches came sputtering 
down out of the air above and fell on 
either side of him. This was getting ex¬ 
citing, and he pounced first upon one and 
then upon the other, but before he had 
them out there were several more brightly 
blazing matches in the grass by him, and 
one of them started a small flame in the 
dead last year’s grass. By this time Bing 
had scorched one paw and singed his nose, 
and still the blazing matches were all 
about him. What should he do? Sum¬ 
mon some one? and he barked loudly for 
help. Surely his master would hear, even 
if his mistress did not, but no one came 
to his assistance. Then he heard the rapid 
explosive sound of a motorcycle crossing 
the street on the state road a hundred 


150 


BING 


yards away. It must be his friend Jerry, 
the State policeman. He would go to him 
for assistance. Jerry would help him 
put out these hissing, sputtering matches 
which were too much for him. So he 
raced after the motorcycle policeman, try¬ 
ing to head him off before he had crossed 
the street and passed from sight. 

Lieutenant Monyhan was very much 
surprised when Bing bore down upon him, 
barking frantically and racing after his 
motorcycle. Bing was usually a quiet dog 
and he had never seen him chase any 
vehicle before. What had got into him! 
But, as the motorcycle drew away from 
the dog, the officer plainly heard an ap¬ 
pealing howl from poor Bing. Some¬ 
thing must be the matter, so he slowed 
down his machine and turned to greet his 
friend. 

Again, to his surprise, Bing came gal- 


A TIMELY TRICK 


151 


loping up and seized him imperatively by 
the trouser leg and tugged away at his 
legging with all his might. 

“ Hold on, old chap. What is the mat¬ 
ter, Bing? You’ll tear my legging. 
Here, don’t pull so hard! What has got 
into you? ” 

For answer Bing released his hold and 
started towards Sunshine Cottage, look¬ 
ing back over his shoulder to see if his 
friend, Jerry, was following him. 

“ Oh, ho,” said the officer, “ that’s the 
idea, is it? You want me to come back 
with you, do you? ” 

Bing could not say yes, but he whim¬ 
pered it so plainly that he made Jerry 
understand. 

“All right, old pal,” he said, “ I’m com¬ 
ing.” And he started after the dog, 
wheeling his motorcycle by his side. 

Seeing that he had been understood, 


152 


BING 


Bing was jubilant, but he made every pos¬ 
sible effort to get his friend to hurry. 
Finally Jerry took the cue from the fren¬ 
zied dog, now feeling sure that something 
serious was afoot. 

As he trundled his motorcycle into the 
yard where he got a full view of the south 
side of the house, the reason for Bing’s 
excitement was plain to him. The roof of 
the ell part of the house was blazing 
brightly, and a shower of sparks and small 
cinders was falling in the yard. These 
had been the matches that poor Bing had 
been unable to extinguish. 

“ Fire! Fire! ” yelled Jerry at the top 
of his lungs, dropping his motorcycle and 
rushing up to the front door and pound¬ 
ing on it with might and main. Bing 
added his frantic barking to the efforts of 
his friend, but they could not arouse the 
people inside, so they went around to the 


A TIMELY TRICK 


153 


back door, and again Jerry pounded and 
Bing barked. 

“ What in the dickens is the matter with 
them! ” exclaimed the officer. “ Can’t we 
get in some way, Bing? ” 

And just as though the question had 
been understood, Bing shot through the 
small door in the garage and began jump¬ 
ing against another door which led from 
the garage to the kitchen. Jerry peered 
in through the window and saw what he 
was doing, so hurried to his assistance. 
Sure enough, this door into the kitchen 
was not locked, and the officer and the ex¬ 
cited dog hurried into the smoke-filled 
room. 

“ Where are they, Bing? ” exclaimed 
Jerry excitedly. “ You lead the way.” 

But Bing did not need to be encour¬ 
aged. He was racing ahead of his friend, 
quickly searching in this room and that, 


154 BING 

and all the time keeping up a frantic 
barking. 

Then he led the way up-stairs, and 
Jerry followed close behind. There was 
not so much smoke here in the main part 
of the house as there had been in the ell, 
and they were soon pounding on the 
Brownings’ bedroom door. 

At this sound, Mr. Browning jumped 
out of bed. 

“ What is the matter? ” he called. 
“ Who is there? ” 

“ It’s me, Jerry,” said the officer. 
“ Get up and hurry about it; your house 
is on fire.” 

The Brownings needed no further ad¬ 
monitions, but, seizing what clothes they 
could in their arms, hurried after Bing 
and the officer down the stairway and out 
into the open. 

At this moment the fire-engine came 


A TIMELY TRICK 155 

shrieking up the street and turned in at 
Bird Acre and, in a very few seconds, a 
large stream of water was playing on the 
ell part of Sunshine Cottage. 

At this point in the exciting drama, 
Mrs. Browning uttered a little cry. 

“ Where is the Professor? ” she ex¬ 
claimed. “ Has any one seen the Profes¬ 
sor? ” 

No one had, so every one concluded that 
he must still be in the house. 

“ Can’t some one go in and get my 
cat? ” cried Mrs. Browning. 

“ No,” replied a fireman who had al¬ 
ready taken charge of the fire. “We 
can’t risk our lives for an old cat.” 

But there was some one present over 
whom the fireman had no authority, and 
little Bing shot like a bullet, almost be¬ 
tween the fireman’s legs and into the 
house. 


156 


BING 


“ He has gone after the Professor,” 
said Mr. Browning. “ I hope he will find 
him.” 

“ There is more chance that you will 
lose your dog, too,” returned the fireman. 

But his prophecy was a poor one, for 
in a minute or two, little Bing came strug¬ 
gling out of the front door, coughing and 
sneezing, but master of the situation, for 
his teeth were firmly set in the scruff of the 
Professor’s neck and he was dragging him 
forth to safety. 

Although he was merely a dog hero and 

the one for whom he had risked his life 

was just an old yellow cat, yet this ex- 

« 

hibition of courage was not lost on the 
crowd, and a lusty cheer for little Bing 
went up from the spectators. 

In fifteen minutes’ time the fire was 
under control and in half an hour it was 
nearly out, but this was not until the 


A TIMELY TRICK 


157 


wood-shed and the garage had been 
burned and Sunshine Cottage itself badly 
scorched. But the Brownings were very 
grateful to escape with such slight losses, 
and the hero of the entire dramatic hap¬ 
pening was little Bing. For, had he not 
discovered the fire and summoned the of¬ 
ficer to help him? Had he not led him to 
the bedroom of his sleeping master and 
mistress, and finally, through his own ef¬ 
forts and courage, had he not dragged 
the old Professor to safety? Surely, if 
there ever was a dog that deserved to be 
called a fireman, it was little Bing. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE GREAT RIVER GOES MAD 

On the evening of November 3rd, 19—, 
Mr. and Mrs. Browning were sitting in 
their cozy dining-room at Sunshine Cot¬ 
tage, enjoying the evening meal. Little 
Bing was not in his usual place on the 
floor between them, and they greatly 
missed him. 

“ I don’t see where Bing is,” remarked 
Mrs. Browning after a long silence. “ He 
has hardly been in the house to-day and, 

158 











THE RIVER GOES MAD 159 

whenever I have seen him, he has seemed 
to be full of business, trotting about with 
a great air of importance.” 

“ Perhaps there has been a dog so¬ 
ciable,” returned Mr. Browning, “ or 
maybe the dog club meets this evening. 
I wouldn’t worry about him if I were 
you.” 

With these words the master reached 
for a cup of tea, but paused with the 
steaming beverage half-way to his lips. 
He seemed to be listening, and Mrs. 
Browning at once noticed this. 

“ What is it, Lawrence? ” she inquired 
quickly. 

“ I don’t just know,” he returned. “ I 
thought I heard a dog howl, and it 
sounded like Bing. Listen.” 

For ten seconds there was absolute 
silence, then an unmistakable howl came 
from the end of the home lot. Both mas- 


160 BING 

ter and mistress rose hurriedly and went 
to the door. 

For perhaps half a minute there was no 
sound outside, save the usual autumnal 

i 

night noises, but presently the howl was 
repeated, and this time it was unmistak¬ 
able. 

It began with a chest tone, angry and 
passionate, but rose rapidly in the scale, 
increasing in pathos as it went higher and 
higher, and finally it died away in a very 
shred of sound, almost like a sob. 

“ That’s Bing, sure enough,” said Mr. 
Browning, and he whistled shrilly for the 
dog, but the little hound, usually quick to 
come at his master’s call, paid no attention 
to the whistle, but sat dolefully on his tail 
lifting up his voice to Heaven with a 
melancholy howl. 

Soon another howl was heard, coming 
from far down the street, but this howl 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 161 


was quite different from the one Bing had 
uttered. It was deep and sonorous, a dog 
diapason, beginning away down in the 
chest and seemingly full of anger and 
rage, but it rapidly mounted, growing in 
intensity and pathos until it finally ended 
in a pathetic wail, dying away in a tone 
so unearthly that it sounded almost like 
the cry of a lost soul. 

“ That’s Watchman, the big police dog 
down at Higginses’,” remarked Mr. 
Browning. “ I wonder what’s the matter. 
There isn’t any one dead in town, is there? 
You know Watchman howled in just that 
way the night Grandpa Higgins died.” 

“ I haven’t heard of any one,” returned 
Mrs. Browning. “ Listen!” 

From up the street came a howl pitched 
half-way between that of little Bing and 
the deep howl of Watchman. 

“ That’s Scotty Jones,” said Mr. 


162 


BING 


Browning. “ He has got the message, 
too, whatever it is. I wonder what is 
afoot. For all we think we know so much 
about dogs, there is still a great deal to 
learn. They seem to have psychological 
powers of which we know nothing, and 
strange premonitions of death and com¬ 
ing dangers. I am almost convinced that 
a dog actually beholds the death spectre 
when it finally comes, through some psy¬ 
chological vision of which we have no 
knowledge.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Browning, “ this is 
the most doleful concert I ever heard, and 
I am going into the house.” 

After whistling for Bing for several 
minutes without avail, Mr. Browning fol¬ 
lowed her, but all through the evening 
they continued to discuss the meaning of 
this strange night serenade. 

They would have been still more mys- 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 163 


tified later in the evening, had they beheld 
Watchman, Scotty, and Bing all come to¬ 
gether as by a common impulse at the 
corner above Sunshine Cottage, at the 
place where the road to Meadowdale 
crossed Broad Street. 

Apparently these three dogs had not 
made any previous appointment, but had 
answered a common impulse. Whatever 
it might be, something outside them and 
yet within them had told them that they 
were to meet at this place at just this par¬ 
ticular time. 

For a minute or two they sniffed noses, 
looked up at the November sky, and then 
returned to their confab. Finally they 
seemed to reach a decision and Watch¬ 
man, the big police dog, led the way down 
the trolley track towards Meadowdale at 
a long swinging gallop. Scotty followed 
close behind, while little Bing brought up 


164 


BING 


the rear, running with might and main to 
keep up with his two friends. Occa¬ 
sionally, when the pace became too much 
for him, he would stop and utter a despair¬ 
ing wail, at which the larger dogs would 
slow up until he overtook them. They 
did not slacken their pace until they 
reached the great river, and then it was 
merely to cross over to the travel bridge 
on which they crossed the river. 

At the farther end of the bridge they 
went straight to a telephone pole some one 
hundred feet away and there, leaning ex- 
haustedly against the pole, was a great 
gaunt greyhound, a dog none of them had 
ever seen before. He was so spent with 
running that he could scarcely stand. He 
was footsore and his feet were bleeding. 
His breath came spasmodically, with occa¬ 
sional short sobs. For several minutes 
the three newcomers stood round him, 



A DOG NONE OF THEM HAD EVER SEEN BEFORE. — Pciye 164 















THE RIVER GOES MAD 165 


awaiting his pleasure. Finally he pulled 
himself together and stood erect, await¬ 
ing the advance of the newcomers. 

First, Watchman went up to him and 
stood with his nose touching that of the 
greyhound for at least a minute. Then 
he turned suddenly, slunk away fifteen or 
twenty paces, and sat down on his tail and 
gave vent to that primitive wolf howl 
which had so recently been heard along the 
broad street of Shadyville. 

Next, Scotty went up to the lank-look¬ 
ing dog and rubbed noses with him. He 
likewise soon retired and sat down on his 
tail and added his voice to that of Watch¬ 
man. 

Lastly, little Bing greeted the stranger. 
As soon as his nose touched that of the 
greyhound, he began' to whimper and 
tremble and, after a very few seconds, he, 
likewise, retired and added his voice to the 


166 BING 

mournful duet that had preceded him. 
The old greyhound did not howl, he was 
too spent for that, but he stood looking 
mournfully at the other dogs with sad, 
half-closed eyes. 

I do not know what the old greyhound 
told the three dogs from Shadyville, but 
he certainly told them something. I do 
not know what the dog mode of communi¬ 
cation is, but I am inclined to think it is 
either a sign language or telepathic, prob¬ 
ably the latter. I do not know that it is 
vocal, but the fact was that the exhausted 
greyhound was a dog courier from the 
flood-swept north. During the past forty- 
eight hours he had galloped unceasingly, 
covering two hundred miles. He had left 
the crest of the terrible flood twenty hours 
behind, and here he was at the end of the 
great bridge telling the dogs of Shady¬ 
ville in some strange way of the things he 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 167 


had seen during the past forty-eight 
hours. 

Two days before, just at dusk, he had 
been out on a hilltop overlooking a little 
Vermont village which slept in a peace¬ 
ful valley. The sun was just setting and, 
as the great greyhound stood on the hill¬ 
top, his tall figure was sharply silhouetted 
against the evening sky. Then it was that 
he beheld a terrible sight, for, without 
warning, a mighty wall of water came 
roaring and seething down the valley. 
He had seen the house in which his master 
and mistress and two little children lived, 
roll over and over before the oncoming 
flood. 

He had seen houses, barns, hen-coops, 
automobiles, cows, and horses, and even 
men and women, floating down the valley 
on the crest of this mountain of water. 
For fifteen minutes the old hound had 


168 


BING 


stood spellbound, and then he had been 
seized with a great terror. This rushing, 
seething monster which was destroying 
everything in its wake would stretch up its 
mighty mouth for him, so he had turned 
and pointed his nose southward. All that 
night he had galloped and, at daybreak, 
had eaten a hasty breakfast at a garbage 
heap; then he had sped on, southward, 
southward, southward. He was gallop¬ 
ing, he knew not where or why, but he 
must leave this seething, hissing, foaming 
monster that had destroyed his home and 
his friends far behind. 

For another night and another day he 
had galloped, and so, at the end of forty- 
eight hours, he was sitting here by a tele¬ 
phone pole at the end of the great bridge 
telling the dogs of Shadyville the story of 
the terrible monster that was roaring, 
rushing, and foaming down upon the crest 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 169 


of the great river, bringing death and 
destruction to all who awaited its coming. 

The following morning, Mr. Browning 
and a friend went to attend some meetings 
at a local college in which they were both 
interested, and the incident of the howl¬ 
ing dogs the evening before was forgotten. 

The morning papers contained scare- 
heads concerning the great flood to the 
northward, but, as it was a balmy au¬ 
tumnal day, such disasters as this flood 
seemed far off, and it was soon forgotten. 

At three o’clock in the afternoon the 
great, seething, rushing, roaring, hissing 
monster of a river overflowed its banks on 
both sides below the three bridges, and the 
flood was on. At one point the shelving 
bank gave way for one hundred feet and 
a great tidal wave went rushing over the 
lowlands. Some farmers who were doing 
their autumn plowing in the meadows 


170 


BING 


were obliged to flee for their lives. The 
great, hissing, seething, foaming monster 
spread over the meadows like a devastat¬ 
ing demon, picking up driftwood, sticks, 
and anything that would float, as it swept 
on its relentless way. By four o’clock the 
houses and barns on Meadow Street were 
surrounded, and the farmers came and 
went on rafts or in boats. But the good 
people on Meadow Street were immune 
to floods. They had seen the water ass 
high as this and higher, so they made no 
effort to remove their stock or household 
belongings. By five o’clock the great 
meadows were entirely submerged and 
the water was creeping into the lower end 
of Broad Street, and Shadyville village 
was threatened. 

That evening when the little Polish boy 
brought the milk to Sunshine Cottage, he 
was very much excited. 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 171 

“ Oh, Mr. Browning,” he cried, “ the 
river has gone crazy and is running back¬ 
wards into the street. My house is sur¬ 
rounded and I had to wear my rubber 
boots. If I don’t hurry up and get home, 
it will be up to my middle.” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” returned Mr. 
Browning. “We often have high water 
here in Shadyville. Two or three times I 
have seen it so high that we could take a 
boat right out in front of the house.” 

But Mr. Browning was really surprised 
when he retired at eleven o’clock and the 
mistress reported that the water was com¬ 
ing up in the ditches in front of the house. 

“ I wouldn’t worry,” said the man as 
he crawled into bed. “ We have seen high 
water before. I guess it will begin to fall 
by morning.” 

But, in spite of herself, Mrs. Browning 
was worried and could not retire. In- 


172 BING 

stead, she and Bing wandered restlessly 
about the buildings, watching the ever- 
advancing water. 

At two o’clock in the morning, every 
bell in the sleepy old village began ring¬ 
ing violently and Mr. Browning came out 
of bed with a jump and, gathering up his 
clothes, hurried down-stairs. Something 
had surely happened, or was about to hap¬ 
pen, or they would not give a general 
alarm like this. 

Then the telephone rang and a friend 
told them that the river was coming over 
its banks at the head of the street. Every 
able-bodied man in the town was called to 
the dikes, or rather to the place where the 
dikes should have been, for there were 
none. 

Then Mr. Browning remembered that 
he had known old-timers to shake their 
heads and say that, if the river ever came 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 173 

over the banks at the head of the street, it 
would be good-night to Shadyville. In 
fifteen minutes’ time, automobiles were 
rushing to and fro, honking their horns 
and calling for men to get up. Half an 
hour later, trucks loaded with bags of sand 
could he seen hurrying towards the vul¬ 
nerable north end of the town. At first, 
the dike was only two or three rods long, 
but, as the water rose, it was extended 
until, by daylight, it was half a mile in 
length and four bags high, and still the 
water rose. 

As daylight came on, the scene on 
Broad Street in Shadyville was indescrib¬ 
able to one who was used to its usual calm. 
For hours a procession of fugitives had 
been marching by Sunshine Cottage. Lit¬ 
tle children carrying household utensils 
and clothing were in the van. Some of 
them were stolid and philosophical, but 


174 


BING 


others were crying. Close behind them 
came the women carrying suitcases in 
which they had hurriedly thrust clothing 
and their most valuable possessions, and 
behind them came the great two-horse 
wagons, groaning under a load of stock. 
The cattle were lowing, excited calves 
were bleating, but the most hideous din of 
all was that made by the pigs* They had 
been suddenly aroused from sleep in their 
warm sties, caught and hog-tied, and 
thrust unceremoniously into boats, going 
to what doom they knew not. But one 
thing was certain, their squealing was in¬ 
cessant and harrowing to the last degree. 

By noon, Sunshine Cottage was en¬ 
tirely surrounded by water, three or four 
feet deep. The Brownings and one other 
family just across the street were all the 
people that still stayed in their houses on 
the lower end of Broad Street. The rest 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 175 

of the inhabitants had fled with what be¬ 
longings they could take with them. They 
had abandoned their homes and their 
homesteads to the devastating flood. 

But the Brownings were old-timers; 
they had seen high water before. As long 
as the dike held at the head of the street, 
there was no reason for abandoning their 
home. At two o’clock in the afternoon, 
although the scene was anything but reas¬ 
suring, Mr. Browning sat before the radio 
listening to a football game in a distant 
city, Bing occupying his usual place under 
a table near by. The master had con¬ 
cluded that they might as well get what 
fun they could out of the day, but the 
play had barely started and the game was 
scarcely under way when there came a 
violent knocking at the front door, and a 
State officer hurried in. 

“ I am sorry, Mister,” he said, “ but the 


176 


BING 


dam at Werner’s Falls has given way and 
you have just fifteen minutes to get into 
the boat. Take what you can in that time, 
and come quickly.” 

Now Mr. Browning had read just the 
day before that, if this great dam, which 
was a model of modern engineering, ever 
gave way, a flood of water twenty-five feet 
high and running at the rate of twenty- 
five miles an hour would sweep down the 
valley, carrying everything before it. So 
the Brownings needed no further urging. 
Hastily Mr. Browning filled a suitcase 
with some of his most valuable manu¬ 
scripts, while Mrs. Browning filled an¬ 
other with clothing and other valuables. 
Just at the last minute, as Mr. Browning 
was handing the suitcase to the officer in 
the boat, Mrs. Browning rushed out in 
great excitement. 

“ I can’t find Bing or the Professor 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 177 


anywhere/’ she cried, “ and we can’t go 
without them. What shall we do? ” 

For answer, one of the officers took her 
firmly by the arm. “ Get into the boat, 
madam,” he said. “ There is not a minute 
to lose. At such a time as this, we cannot 
stop for cats and dogs.” 

“ But we can’t go without our pets,” 
objected Mr. Browning. 

“ You will have to,” said another officer, 
pushing him back into a seat. 

While they had been talking, a third 
officer had locked the front door on Bing 
and the Professor and, a second later, the 
boat pushed off. 

It was a terrible scene and one that the 
Brownings never forgot. Their beloved 
Sunshine Cottage was entirely surrounded 
by water which was gurgling and foaming 
as it rushed under the piazza and into the 
cellar. 


178 


BING 


There was water, water everywhere, 
dark, foaming, and gurgling. Above the 
sound of its sucking and seething came the 
cries of excited men as they urged their 
frantic horses through the flood, the low¬ 
ing of the cattle, the squealing of the pigs, 
the excited barking of dogs, and, above all 
and worst of all, the sobbing of women 
and little children. 

As the boat reached the corner of 
Broad Street and the road to Meadow- 
dale, Mrs. Browning glanced back for a 
parting look at Sunshine Cottage. 

“ Officer, look! ” she cried. “ See if you 
can make out what that is in the garret 
window.” 

The officer turned his glance in the di¬ 
rection indicated and said: “ It is your 
cat and dog. They have taken refuge in 
the garret. They surely understand the 
situation.” 


THE RIVER GOES MAD 179 

And that was the last glimpse that the 
Brownings had of Bing and the Profes¬ 
sor, for, a second later, the boat rounded 
the corner and Sunshine Cottage was 
blotted from sight. A few blocks farther 
on they were transferred to an automobile, 
for the village was not entirely sub¬ 
merged. The automobile in turn took 
them to the house of some good friends 
who lived on higher ground. 

All that afternoon they waited fever¬ 
ishly for reports of the flood. Every man 
in Shadyville who could work was busy. 
Trucks loaded with sand-bags were rush¬ 
ing by, while farmers, business men, and 
professional men stood waist-deep in the 
water, piling the precious sand-bags on 
the dike. 

By night, the waters were still rising. 
Nearly all the cellars on Broad Street 
were full of water and some of the first 


180 


BING 


stories were partly submerged, but still 
no further word from the great dam at 
Werner’s Falls. Had it really gone out? 
No one seemed to know, and this added to 
the agony of the situation. 

All through that night the Brownings 
tossed on sleepless pillows, listening to the 
booming of the big clock near by. It was 
an interminable night. Would morning 
never come? What was going on out 
there in the dark? What was happening 
to old Shadyville? Would they ever see 
Sunshine Cottage again? Would little 
Bing and the Professor be safe? What a 
night! Would it never end? And thus 
the hours dragged by. 



CHAPTER IX 

ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 

On that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday 
morning when the sun arose and the good 
people of Shadyville looked out over the 
landscape, they were filled with joy and 
gratitude to see that the old town was 
still there. In some miraculous way the 
flimsy dike of sand-bags had held. The 
square colonial houses still stood on Broad 

Street, with the great elms standing guard 

181 






























182 BING 

over them. But this Shadyville looked 
more like an inland lake than a peaces 
ful New England town. Its commons 
were lagoons, while its roads and side¬ 
walks were rivers. Many of the outbuild¬ 
ings were gone, but the houses and barns 
still stood. The water in the river was 
four feet above the level of that in the 
town, so there was still grave danger, but 
the people of Shadyville had hopes. 

Immediately after breakfast, the good 
people with whom the Brownings were 
staying took them in their automobile on a 
sightseeing trip. They went along a 
street at the back of the village which was 
on higher ground, and so had a good view 
of the village. It was water, water every¬ 
where. Mrs. Browning, who was using 
the field-glass, reported to the others. 

“ Sunshine Cottage is still there,” she 
said. “ Everything seems to be all right, 


ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 183 


but I guess my carpets and furniture on 
the first floor have got a good wetting. I 
wish I could get a glimpse of Bing and 
the Professor, but it is too far away for 
that. The door which leads to the back 
piazza is open. I thought I locked it be¬ 
fore we left, and the hen-house is gone. I 
did not notice that before.” 

“ We can easily spare it,” said Mr. 
Browning, who was overjoyed that Sun¬ 
shine Cottage was still safe. “ We will 
give it as an offering to the water gods.” 

Then came the report from up north 
that the Werner’s Falls dam had probably 
not gone out, although the water had been 
so high the day before that engineers were 
not sure. The crest of the flood would 
reach Shadyville at noon and, if the dikes 
held a few hours longer, the worst would 
be over. Noon came, and the crest of the 
flood swept by the marooned town and the 


184 


BING 


dikes held. By two o’clock in the after¬ 
noon, the water had begun to fall and, by 
sundown, it had fallen a foot, and Shady- 
ville breathed easier. 

When the sun arose on Monday morn¬ 
ing and the people of the marooned town 
again beheld their village, to their great 
surprise they found that most of the 
water which had flooded the streets, road¬ 
ways, and the common had disappeared. 
There was still good boating in the low 
places and it would be several days before 
the water entirely disappeared, but the 
roads were again in shape for travel. So 
the Brownings lost no time in going back 
to Sunshine Cottage. They went in an 
automobile over the road they had trav¬ 
eled in a boat two days before. 

“ Everything looks all right,” said Mrs. 
Browning as they mounted the steps to 
the front piazza. 


ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 185 


“ I don’t see why Bing isn’t scratching 
at the door,” remarked Mr. Browning as 
he unlocked it. 

But a hurried search of the house re¬ 
vealed the astonishing fact that Bing and 
the Professor were not there. They had 
disappeared as though by magic. 

“ Are you sure you saw them in the 
garret window? ” inquired Mr. Browning 
for the third time, after he and Mrs. 
Browning had ransacked every room. 

“ Perfectly,” she replied, “ and the offi¬ 
cer saw them also. It is the queerest thing 
I ever heard of.” 

So, while the Brownings are wondering 
about the strange disappearance of their 
dog and cat, let us go back to that first 
night when they sat by the garret window 
and watched the boat taking the master 
and mistress far away, and see what hap¬ 
pened. 


186 


BING 


With the disappearance of the family, 
Bing and the old cat did not linger long 
in the garret, but soon returned to the first 
floor where they wandered restlessly from 
room to room wondering what it was all 
about. 

But it was not until the water began 
creeping in over the floor that they really 
got excited. Then Bing noticed that it 
was spoiling his dog biscuit in the kitchen, 
so he carried them up-stairs, one at a time, 
and finally both he and the Professor took 
refuge in the second story. 

They slept in the guest chamber on the 
best bed until about two o’clock in the 
morning and then became restless because 
their master and mistress did not return. 
In the course of their wanderings about 
the house, they came to the door leading 
to the up-stairs back porch. It was partly 
open, and Bing and the Professor went 


ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 187 


out on the back porch. But this gave 
them little consolation, for at the foot of 
the stairway was a great lake, and neither 
dog nor cat had any mind to escape in that 
way. Then they noticed the board lead¬ 
ing from the back piazza to the roof of the 
hen-house which the Brownings used when 
they scattered grain to the birds. Bing 
finally led the way across to the hen-house, 

and the Professor followed. 

# 

They fidgeted about on the roof for sev¬ 
eral minutes and finally Bing turned to 
go back to the piazza, but, to his surprise, 
there was a broad gap between the end of 
the plank and the hen-house roof. Then 
it was that he noticed that the hen-house 
was moving, not rapidly but steadily, and 
this movement soon carried them out into 
the orchard where the strong current took 
this clumsy craft and, in another minute, 
the little hound and the big yellow cat had 


188 BING 

started on their perilous journey towards 
Long Island Sound. 

As the hen-house swept out into the 
current and started steadily southward, 
Bing appreciated the fact that a strange 
and irresistible force was carrying him 
away from Sunshine Cottage and his 
folks. It was a force that he could not 
fight, and this fact filled him with terror. 
He walked excitedly up and down on the 
hen-house roof for several minutes, then 
he sat down on his tail and gave vent to 
a series of howls. It was indeed a terrify¬ 
ing scene. 

Overhead were the heavens with their 
countless stars and beneath was the water, 
seemingly as endless as the sky and also 
dotted with stars. The trees and build¬ 
ings all had their counterpart in dark un¬ 
earthly shadows in the water. There 
were few sounds save the distant roar of 


\ ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 189 

the river and the occasional splash of the 
officers’ oars as they rowed up and down 
Broad Street on their strange, unearthly 
beat. 

Just opposite the lower end of Broad 
Street, the hen-house grounded for half 
an hour, and Bing might have escaped as 
the water was shallow here, but he did not 
know it, as the shadows at this point made 
it look dark and forbidding. But finally 
the wind shifted and there was just 
enough push in it to start the hen-house 
anew on its perilous ride. As soon as the 
clumsy building drifted into the meadows 
below Broad Street, it felt the titanic pull 
of the great river and quickened its pace. 
A mile below Shadyville the river turned 
sharply to the left and here, as it swirled 
back to the right to resume its southern 
direction, it had piled up a strange con¬ 
glomeration of wreckage upon a small 


190 BING 

meadow. There were planks, logs, trees 
and bushes, hen-houses and hen-coops, 
corn-cribs, gates and fences, and scattered 
in among this medley were chairs, tables, 
and bedsteads, all articles of a more 
human touch. At one point a shiny 
square piano was ended up between a 
corn-crib and a portion of a bridge. But 
this was not all. The tragedy was even 
worse than this, for there were dead cows 
in the wreckage, also horses. Good swim¬ 
mers that they were, they could not stem 
this terrible tide. Who can imagine the 
fearful sights that little Bing saw as he 
shivered on the roof of the hen-house while 
this strange procession went by? For it 
is a matter of history that, during this 
flood, three thousand cows and hundreds 
of horses, pigs, and sheep went floating to 
the sea, while one hundred and fifty men, 
women, and children found a watery grave 


ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 191 

somewhere between northern Vermont 
and Long Island Sound. 

After two hours more, debris piled up 
behind the hen-house, and the rising water 
forced it again into the current, and once 
more little Bing and the Professor began 
their strange ride to the sea. Eight miles 
below this spot was the great dam at Mill¬ 
ville. Ordinarily, at this point, the water 
took a thirty-foot drop, and even now, at 
flood time, the fall was fifteen feet, so 
when the hen-house should finally take 
that plunge it would turn over and over 
and Bing and the old cat would find a 
watery grave. An hour passed and they 
drifted slowly by the Pelham river bridge 
which was partly submerged. They had 
covered two of the eight perilous miles, 
and the great dam and fatal plunge were 
now but six miles away. Another half- 
hour, and they saw the end of old Mount 


192 BING 

f 

Wachusett being left behind. It was now 
about four miles to the dam; two more of 
these miles had been covered, and it 
seemed that only a miracle could save 
little Bing and his companion on their 
strange craft, when the unexpected hap¬ 
pened. And so it is in our human lives; 
often the deepest darkness precedes the 
dawn, and “ joy cometh in the morning.” 

Now it happened that Billy Anderson 
who lived just two miles above the Mill¬ 
ville dam was out in his motor-boat look¬ 
ing for valuable wreckage. He was pro¬ 
vided with a long rope and grappling-iron, 
and whenever he saw anything that he 
thought would be of value, he caught the 
article with his grappling-iron and towed 
it ashore. 

Bing, having been anxiously searching 
the water in every direction for possible 
help, discovered Billy long before the man 



He noticed the small hound perched on the ridge-pole 

Pa<je 193. 























ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 193 

saw him. The frantic barking of the dog 
soon attracted the young man’s attention 
and he looked in every direction, as sound 
coming over the water is very deceptive. 
Finally he espied the hen-house and 
turned his motor-boat towards it. Then 
it was that he noticed the small hound 
perched on the ridge-pole. At the sight 
of the boat, Bing redoubled his barking, 
fairly prancing up and down in his ex¬ 
citement and, finally, as the boat drew 
nearer, the Professor crowded up close to 
him, wishing also to add his persuasion. 

As Billy came close to the hen-house, 
not wishing to come in collision with it, 
he headed the boat up-stream and Bing 
thought the young man had passed them 
by, and his joyful barking was turned to 
dolorous howling. But Billy’s next move 
was firmly to fasten the grappling-iron to 
a window-sill, and then he headed the 


194 BING 

motor-boat towards shore, but the current 
was so strong and the hen-house was so 
clumsy that it was fifteen minutes before 
he made very much headway with it. 
Both hen-house and motor-boat went 
steadily down-stream, but Billy could see 
that, little by little, he was getting the 
clumsy craft towards the shore, and finally 
he brought it to rest on terra firma just 
half a mile above the great dam. 

It was but the work of a few minutes 
to climb to the roof and help Bing into 
the boat, and the young man soon fol¬ 
lowed with the Professor under his arm. 
After making the hen-house secure to a 
tree near by, Billy set out for his own 
home, feeling that he had accomplished 
quite a stroke. But it was not until he 
was inside the house and had looked at 
Bing’s collar that he was able to identify 
the little hound for, on the collar, he read: 


ADRIFT IN THE NIGHT 195 


“ Name, Bing. Owner, Lawrence Brown¬ 
ing, Shadyville, Mass.” But when young 
Anderson tried to call Sunshine Cottage, 
the operator told him that the house was 
empty, as nearly all of Shadyville had 
been evacuated. The following day he re¬ 
ceived the same report. No one seemed 
to know where the Brownings had gone. 
It was on the afternoon of the second day 
after the strange rescue that young An¬ 
derson got out his motor-car and Bing 
promptly took his place on the front seat 
beside the driver, while the Professor was 
content to ride between them. 

The Brownings were just at the height 
of their discussion as to what had become 
of Bing and the Professor, and Mr. 
Browning was outlining a plan for their 
recovery, when they heard a sharp bark in 
front of the house. There was only one 
dog in the world that barked like that, and 


196 


BING 


it was Bing. So both master and mistress 
hurried to the door just in time to see him 
jump from the car and come bounding to¬ 
wards them with great leaps, and he was 
closely followed by the Professor. 

Such a home-coming and such a reunion 
had never been seen at Sunshine Cottage 
before, and we may be certain that the 
young man who had rescued the Brown¬ 
ing pets came in for his share of glory and 
reward. 


CHAPTER X 

THE LONG VIGIL 

For several months after the great 
flood, Mrs. Browning was not well. In 
spite of all her efforts, she could not throw 
off the horror of that great disaster. 
Whenever it rained and surface water ap¬ 
peared, either in the orchard behind the 
house or on the common, it made her ner¬ 
vous. The winter that followed was a 
long and hard one, and all the members of 
Sunshine Cottage were glad when spring 



came. 


197 


198 


BING 


One morning at the breakfast table, late 
in April, Mrs. Browning greatly sur¬ 
prised her husband by saying, “ I wish 
Bing would stop looking at me so. He 
makes me nervous.” 

The little hound that had been gazing 
at his mistress with adoring eyes at once 
turned his head and went to Mr. Brown¬ 
ing who patted him affectionately. 

“You may look at me, Bingsey, just as 
much as you want to,” he said. “ I should 
be glad to have a nice dog like you look 
at me.” 

“You don’t understand what I mean,” 
replied Mrs. Browning irritably. “ I do 
not mind his looking at me, but he looks 
as though he saw something.” 

Mr. Browning laughed. “ The fact is, 
he is seeing a fine-looking woman.” 

“ Stop your joking and be serious! I 
am, Heaven knows,” returned the mis- 


THE LONG VIGIL 


199 


tress. “ Bing not only looks at me, but 
he looks through me. He looks as though 
he saw something standing over me or 
behind me. Half a dozen times a day I 
turn about to see what he is looking at.” 

Mr. Browning looked serious. “ Why, 
you’re just tired, Betty,” he said. “ It’s 
nerves. Bing doesn’t see anything that 
the rest of us do not see.” 

“ But you have often said, Lawrence, 
that you thought dogs had premonitions 
of danger to come and that they could 
even see the death spectre. That’s what I 
mean. I wonder if Bing sees something 
behind me that neither you nor I can be¬ 
hold,” and she concluded the sentence 
with a little sob. 

“Nonsense, fiddlesticks!” replied Mr. 
Browning, but nevertheless he was deeply 
troubled over the conversation. 

So he was not altogether surprised 


200 


BING 


i 


when, a few days later, his wife an¬ 
nounced: “ I can’t get up this morning, 
Lawrence. I don’t know what the trouble 
is, but the bed seems to spin around like 
a top. I’m afraid we are in for it.” 

“ I guess you will be all right,” re¬ 
turned the master. “ .You’re just tired 
out. I’ll get up and get things started.” 

But, instead, he went down-stairs and 
telephoned for good old Dr. Hampton. 
The physician made a long and careful ex¬ 
amination of Mrs. Browning and asked 
many questions, then retired to the study 
for a consultation with Mr. Browning. 

“ It’s typhoid fever or something of the 
kind,” he said. “ She’s very nervous. 
We must have a nurse at once.” 

The nurse came the same afternoon. 
Her name was Miss Stevenson, and she 
had just graduated from a large hospital 
in the city and looked very immaculate in 


THE LONG VIGIL 201 

her new uniform. She was brimful of 
theories and efficiency, but, as Dr. Hamp¬ 
ton remarked to Mr. Browning: “ She’s 
got about as much love in her make-up as 
an icicle, and she’s just about as sym¬ 
pathetic as a broomstick, but I guess she’s 
a good nurse in her way.” 

Miss Stevenson early took a dislike to 
Bing. .Whenever he could slip away to 
the hall up-stairs, the little hound would 
do so, as he wished to be near his mistress. 
Whenever the nurse came out of the sick¬ 
room, she would glare at him and drive 
him down-stairs, an act that nearly 
broke his heart. On several occasions 
when Mrs. Browning heard the patter of 
the small dog’s feet in the hallway, she 
would call him in, but the nurse always 
frowned on this procedure and, as soon as 
the call was over, she would carefully 
wash the patient’s hands. 


202 


BING 


“ What are you doing that for? ” asked 
Mrs. Browning one day. “ Bing’s kisses 
contain nothing but love, and love is not 
infectious.” 

“ Well,” replied the nurse, “ perhaps it 
isn’t, but I’ll take my chance with sylpho- 
nathol or carbolic any day.” 

During this terrible ordeal, Mr. Brown¬ 
ing and Bing became greater pals than 
ever. Often, the master took Bing’s part 
against Miss Stevenson and entreated her 
to be more thoughtful of him. 

One day when they were discussing the 
case, the nurse spoke to the doctor about 
the dog. 

“ Doctor,” she said, “ have we got to 
have that dog in the upper hall all the 
time? I don’t like dogs, and he gives me 
the creeps with his mournful face forever 
looking at Mrs. Browning’s door.” 

“ Bing is a personality,” returned the 


THE LONG VIGIL 203 

old man gently, “ and he has more char¬ 
acter than many people. You will find 
that out, if you see enough of him. I 
wouldn’t disturb him. I am sure that 
Mrs. Browning would like to have him in 
the hallway, if she knew. You see, we 
never can tell just what the golden thread 
is that holds our loved ones to earth. 
Often a bit of love, even a dog’s love, may 
do more than medicine and nursing, so I 
wouldn’t be too hard on Bing.” 

The days that were so full of anxiety 
for Mr. Browning and Bing dragged 
slowly by, and there was no improvement 
in the patient. The little hound finally 
became so heart-broken that he would 
scarcely eat a mouthful of food, so each 
day Mr. Browning took it upon himself 
to feed the dog, fairly coaxing the dog bis¬ 
cuit down his mouth. 

The terrible strain was telling upon 


204 


BING 


both man and dog. Mr. Browning be¬ 
came haggard, and Bing was finally so 
weak that he tottered when he climbed the 
stairs to the upper hall. 

One morning, about the first of May, 
the crisis came. The patient lay on the 
bed as one dead, white as the pillows. Mr. 
Browning sat by a window, leaning his 
aching head on his hands. The doctor had 
done all that he could, and he sat by an¬ 
other window, looking out at the bright 
May sky. They were waiting, waiting, 
waiting for they knew not what. 

Mr. Browning could not help but notice 
as he sat by the open window how differ¬ 
ent the world outside was from the sick¬ 
room. From out-of-doors came the heavy 
fragrance of a syringa-bush in full bloom 
and the sweet scent of new grass, the pun¬ 
gent aroma of the spice-bush and other in¬ 
describable scents which made the May air 


THE LONG VIGIL 


205 


vital and vibrant. The sunbeams, too, 
seemed joyous and full of life, and the 
birds that always flocked to Bird Acre in 
the spring-time were all there. The robins 
were busily flying to and fro, chattering 
and scolding. A bluebird was fluting 
from the top of the pear-tree and the 
blithe little oriole was there also, for it was 
the seventh of May, and this day had been 
oriole day at Bird Acre for the past fifteen 
years. Only once had the orioles failed to 
appear on that day. Life was out there 
in the open,—life that vibrated and 
tingled and was glad, but inside the sick¬ 
room it was so still that the ticking of a 
little clock on the mantelpiece seemed to 
Mr. Browning’s overwrought nerves like 
loudest thunder. There was no sign of 
life inside the room; instead there was 
gloom and heartache. 

Presently the old doctor once more tip- 


206 BING 

toed to the bedside and took the thin white 
hand in his and let his fingers rest for a 
few seconds on the wrist. Then he 
quickly laid the hand down, and, stooping, 
placed his ear over the woman’s heart and 
listened for a few seconds. Then he 
quickly crossed the room and, taking a 
small looking-glass from the mantelpiece, 
hurried back to the bedside and, with trem¬ 
bling hands, held it close to the woman’s 
face for at least thirty seconds, then 
turned it about. It was as bright as sil¬ 
ver; there was not the slightest cloud 
upon it. Then, with heavy steps the old 
physician came over and laid his hand on 
Mr. Browning’s shoulder. The doctor 
said gently: “ She is dying.” With a 
moan of unspeakable agony, Mr. Brown¬ 
ing sank down on his knees beside the bed 
and laid his head on the pillow beside that 
of his wife. The old doctor returned to 


THE LONG VIGIL 


207 


his seat by the window and sat down 
heavily. He had fought a good fight, do¬ 
ing the best he could, and was losing. 
Only he knew how impotent and helpless 
he felt as he sat looking out at the May 
sky. 

Just at the moment when Mr. Brown¬ 
ing had fallen on his knees by the bedside, 
the woman, lying so still and seemingly 
lifeless upon the bed, felt the soul of her, 
her real life, slowly rising from the body, 
the poor tired body that she was leaving. 
There was nothing sudden about this go¬ 
ing; instead it was very leisurely. She 
saw Mr. Browning kneeling by the bed, 
and a great wave of pity for the stricken 
man swept over her. She wanted to stay 
with him and comfort him, but she could 
not, for something above and beyond was 
calling to her and drawing her with an ir¬ 
resistible force. She saw the old doctor 


208 


BING 


sitting by the window, and she pitied him 
also. He had worked so hard, and they 
thought he had lost. There was another 
figure that she beheld likewise, and that 
was little Bing in the outer hall. He was 
sitting on his mat with his forefeet braced, 
his head held high, with a look of utter 
agony on his small dog face. He seemed 
to be looking, or listening for something, 
she knew not what. She pitied Bing, too, 
and wished that she might go to him, but 
the urge from outside was still more insis¬ 
tent. She could not stay, it would not let 
her; she must answer this call. So she 
drifted away from Sunshine Cottage and 
Bird Acre into a great wide world of light 
and unspeakable beauty. The sunshine in 
this world was like amber, and the air was 
more vital than anything she had ever ex¬ 
perienced before. She drank in deep im¬ 
petuous draughts, and it tingled in her 


THE LONG VIGIL 


209 


veins like old wine. She was no longer 
tired, but young and glad. Life, such life 
as she had never known before, was all 
about her, and she revelled in it and 
gloried in her new inexhaustible strength. 

And this air was also filled with won¬ 
derful music, bird-songs, and sounds of 
running brooks, and voices of little chil¬ 
dren and their laughter. Presently she 
noticed that the birds were winging about 
her head, one of them with an undulating 
motion that seemed familiar. Then she 
noted with a little thrill of joy that it was 
Snip, an old red-crested woodpecker they 
had fed at Bird Acre for many years. A 
sparrow-hawk had killed him the year be¬ 
fore, but even that did not seem to matter 
for, here he was, calling “ Snip,” just as 
he used to. The little chorister, a marvel¬ 
ous catbird that had sung for them at Bird 
Acre in years gone by, was there, singing 


210 


BING 


on the top of a fantastic tree. Rabbits 
were there, hopping about, and squirrels 
were chattering from the tree-tops. All 
the wild creatures they had loved and fed 
at Bird Acre were there. 

Presently a familiar figure came bound¬ 
ing towards the woman and she saw to her 
great surprise that it was old Scotty, Mr. 
Browning’s beloved collie that they had 
buried in the orchard the year before, 
when he had been killed by an automobile. 
But here he was, safe and full of life and 
overjoyed to see his mistress. Other dogs 
that they had owned at Bird Acre were 
also bounding about and barking glee¬ 
fully. But all the time a great light in 
the distance seemed calling to the woman, 
dragging her irresistibly forward. 

As she stopped to pat old Scotty on the 
head, she thought she heard a pathetic 
sound in the distance, and looking up she 


THE LONG VIGIL 


211 


saw another dog figure away at the end of 
a long vista, dim and indistinct. Then for 
a moment the shadow in the background 
of this vista opened, and a vast distance 
away she beheld Bird Acre and Sunshine 
Cottage and there, in the upper hall, still 
standing on his mat, was little Bing. His 
head was up, his eyes wild, and every hair 
on his back on end, and he was howling as 
though his heart would break. 

At the sight of the little hound that had 
loved her so long and so faithfully, a great 
tenderness swept over the woman and, 
heedless of the beauty and the wonder 
about her and the bird-songs and all the 
heavenly atmosphere, she turned and 
started hurriedly back towards the heart¬ 
broken little hound that was calling, call¬ 
ing, calling for her at the end of that in¬ 
terminable vista, such a distance away at 
Bird Acre. 


212 BING 

Not all this beauty and bliss could hold 
her hack, and Bing seemed to see her com¬ 
ing, for he started running towards her in 
great bounds, his ears flopping up and 
down as though they would fly off. 

Perhaps two minutes had elapsed since 
that dramatic moment when the old doctor 
had sat down heavily in his chair by the 
window and Mr. Browning had thrown 
himself in unspeakable grief on his knees 
by the bed, when they heard a quick step 
in the hallway and Miss Stevenson, the 
nurse, hurried in and said in an excited 
stage whisper, “ I think Bing is dead.” 

With his left hand, the doctor motioned 
solemnly towards the bed while, with an 
imperious gesture with his right, he fairly 
pushed the nurse from the room. Very 
gently she closed the door and they heard 
her footsteps going slowly down-stairs. 

Then something happened in the sick- 


THE LONG VIGIL 


213 


room that strained to the breaking point 
the credulity of the two waiting men. 
If the roof above them had suddenly flown 
off into space and they had beheld the blue 
sky, or the floor beneath them had sunk 
from sight and they had been left sitting 
in space, they would not have been more 
astonished. For there was a message 
from the woman so pale and quiet on the 
bed. There were words spoken in the 
faintest kind of a whisper, yet they were 
as clear and distinct as though they had 
been shouted from the housetop, and as 
clean-cut as new coins from the mint, and 
this is what she said: 

“ Bing is not dead. He has just 
brought me back over the Great Divide. 
Go to him, doctor, for if he dies I shall go 
back to the Great Beyond; nothing can 
keep me.” 

In two steps, the doctor was by the bed- 


214 


BING 


side. “ My God, Browning, have I been 
mistaken? ” he cried. “ I would have 
taken my oath that she was going. Did 
you hear that? ” 

44 Yes,” said his companion between 
sobs. 44 Do what she says.” 

Now the doctor was an old and experi¬ 
enced physician. Every consideration in 
the medical code bade him stay by the bed¬ 
side of this woman who held to life by so 
slight a thread, yet he was wise in the 
wisdom which is not of this world, so he 
hurried from the room. 

He found Miss Stevenson in the 
kitchen, bending over the prostrate form 
of the little hound. At the sound of his 
entrance, she lifted a tear-stained face. 

44 Doctor,” she said. 44 1 am a wretch. I 
am a heartless creature. I hope you de¬ 
spise me; you ought to. For all this time 
I have been despising this little dog, driv- 


THE LONG VIGIL 215 

mg him cut of the sick chamber whenever 
I had a chance and always maligning 
him; and here he was all the time eating 
out his little heart for love of his mistress. 
Doctor, I am a heartless, soulless little 
wretch! ” 

“ Oh, it is not so bad as that! ” returned 
the doctor. “ Don’t be too hard on your¬ 
self. I said you would respect Bing, once 
you came to know him. Let me see him. 
I don’t believe he’s gone.” 

“ How is Mrs. Browning? ” asked the 
nurse in her professional voice. 

“ She nearly left us two minutes ago,” 
replied the doctor in an even tone, respon¬ 
sive to that of the nurse. 

At this announcement the well-trained 
nurse from the great hospital gave no 
sign. She had expected it, and to meet 
such crises as a soldier was a part of her 
business. 


216 


BING 


“ I don’t think Bing is dead,” said the 
old physician, lifting the small dog’s head. 
“He has just collapsed; he is all worn 
out. !You hold his mouth open, and I’ll 
see if I can get some stimulant down him. 
Mrs. Browning said I must save him if I 
wanted to save her.” 

The young woman gazed at him with 
open mouth. “ I thought you said she 
was leaving us,” she gasped. 

“ So I did,” replied the doctor, “ but 
Bingsey went out over the Great Divide 
and brought her back.” 

Now there was nothing in the young 
woman’s training at the hospital or in the 
advice she had heard in many lectures by 
great physicians which covered this ex¬ 
igency, so, with a little moan, she swooned 
and would have fallen had not the old 
doctor caught her. 

“ Here, here,” he said gently. “ Now 


THE LONG VIGIL 


217 


don’t you go flopping over in that way. I 
have got enough on my hands with a 
woman who is almost dead and yet talks, 
and a dog that has apparently died and 
still breathes, without having you swoon¬ 
ing on my hands. So brace up.” 

These words steadied the nurse, and she 
knelt to do the doctor’s bidding. 

A minute later, there was a slight sound 
on the floor behind them. 

“ What was that? ” asked the nurse, for 
her nerves were wrought to the breaking 
point. 

“ That,” replied the doctor with a 
friendly smile, “ was the first note in a 
psean of gratitude. Don’t you know the 
song of praise and thanksgiving that a 
dog can sing with his tail? Listen.” 

There were two slow and solemn 
thumps on the floor. Yes, little Bing was 
coming round, and was telling his friends 


218 


BING 


with his eloquent tail how grateful he was 
to them all and how glad he was to be 
alive. 

But the old doctor kept on pouring the 
whiskey down his throat, and in ten min¬ 
utes more he was able to stand. 

“ I guess I will take Doctor Bing up to 
the patient,” he said finally, lifting the 
small hound in his arms and starting for 
the sick-room. “ This is a case where 
medicine and nursing don’t seem to count. 
The only thing that holds this woman 
to earth is the golden thread of a small 
dog’s love.” 

Contrary to all ethics and the usual pro¬ 
cedure in the case of a patient who was so 
near death’s door, the old doctor laid the 
small hound upon the bed by his mistress, 
and he frantically licked her hands. At 
this sign from the material world, the 
world to which she still clung by a thread, 


THE LONG VIGIL 


219 


Mrs. Browning opened her eyes and 
smiled at them all. 

Then she spoke again in that faint 
whisper which carried so far and was so 
distinct. “ I love you all,” she said, “ but 
it was Bingsey that brought me back.” 

Again Mr. Browning and the doctor 
took refuge at their windows, the former 
that he might not agitate his wife with his 
emotion that he could scarcely control. 
So Bingsey and his mistress had it all 
their own way on the bed. 

Presently she spoke again, and this 
time in a stronger voice. “ I am coming 
back fast,” she said. “ Somehow it rested 
me out there in that other world and 
helped to make me well. I have come 
hack to stay, so don’t worry about me any 
more.” 

“ It is strange,” said Mr. Browning to 
the doctor, “ the most wonderful and most 


220 


BING 


beautiful thing I have ever known. And 

it suggests again the old, old question I 

♦ 

have asked philosophers and sages so 
many times, but none of them knows the 
answer. It is this: Why was it that when 
God created the most untiring devotion, 
the most unflinching loyalty, the most 
spontaneous forgiveness, and the most 
perfect love, he put these heavenly qual¬ 
ities, not in the brain of a man, but in the 
heart of a dog? ” 






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